Moonlight Dancing
by Elita1Bashers
Summary: The Decepticons have won the war for Earth. Cybertron has been shipped into our atmosphere, and the surviving Autobots are left to suffer the exceptionally unfortunate consequences. [Soundwave/OC], [Starscream/OC], [Megatron/OC], [Shockwave/OC]
1. Chapter 1

_**This is under construction: I'm rewriting a lot of this.**_

**This is set after the war, which ended during the battle of Chicago. Cybertron is in a general state of repair, but the Decepticons have discovered that they not only require a slave labour force but also a means of reproducing...**

**Pairings:**** Megatron/OC, Starscream/OC, Soundwave/OC, Shockwave/OC  
>It will be primarily told from one OC's point of view at the beginning, but it will progress and change as the story goes on.<strong>

**Disclaimer:  
><span>****I do not own Transformers, or it would be brimming with bad humour and dry jokes. I also don't own two of the OC's mentioned in the above paragraph, but I'll bring that up when they actually appear in the fic.**

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><p>Synch's brother had always said that the day the Autobots lost hope would be a very miserable day indeed.<p>

Then again, that was back when her brother had actually possessed a functioning voice; the long-ago days before his vocaliser had been utterly mutilated by everyone's favourite tyrant. Who knew what he would've had to say after that incident? It can't have been easy on him, being forced into the life of a passive mute, incapable of accurately conveying his own thoughts and ideas. For all Synch was aware he might have even wished death upon himself. Heck, a total disregard for his life may have well been the source of his bravery.

But to believe such a thing would be robbing him of the commendation he deserved. That mech had always been filled with relentless optimism and steadfast faith, even in the most bleak of situations. It had almost been easy to believe that they had a chance against the Decepticons with him around. And his courage was next to none, Synch knew that. She'd grown up with the little tike; of course she knew that. A simple loss of voice would not have brought him down- not for long, anyway. Somehow he always managed to bounce back...

Except for one fateful occasion.

Maybe his cheeriness had been the reason for Optimus bringing him along in the first place. Maybe his own blind idealism was the reason for his current state. As a member of the group whom had been stationed on planet Earth, her brother had been on of the first ones to go; mercilessly slaughtered like all the other Autobots who had been stupid enough to take a stand against the Deceptiocons. Nobody had survived the catastrophe on Earth. Nobody. And if they had, they'd smartly kept their mouths shut and retreated into the shadows. There was no honour in being a deserter.

Countless numbers of Autobots had perished in the years that followed that single- yet fatal- event. They'd been hunted down group by group, one by one, through different stars and galaxies that spanned the entirety of space. With Optimus gone, the Autobots fell into disarray. Hope was soon abandoned just as her brother had feared. What point was there in resisting when there was nothing left to fight for? All they did now was wait in bated silence, doing their utmost best to prolong their inevitable end. Synch would know- she had been one of them, before she'd landed herself a place in these miserable cells.

The only thing that had stopped the Decepticons from completely wiping Autobot existence from the face of the galaxy- the only reason that Synch herself was alive _now- _had been the sudden realisation that their species was on the brink of extinction. The scars of war had cut deep, and numbers were noticeably scarce. It soon became obvious to the 'Cons (they actually had semi-functioning processors, believe it or not) that their own femmes were either too few, too unwilling, or too unfit for parenthood, and overall were hardly a reliable source to base their race's revival on.

That's where the Autobot femmes came in. That's where _Synch _came in.

Though the majority of the remaining Decepticon femmes were bonded, this was hardly an indication of them desiring to have families with their partner. These bonds had rarely been an act of committed affection so much as they had been a form of guaranteed protection. Femmes didn't exactly have the upper hand when it came to combat, and many mechs had been more than happy to save their afts from time-to-time in exchange for the opportunity to interface with something. Love was, after all, a _very _foreign concept amongst the Decepticon faction. Lust and survival? Much more common. It created quite the dilemma in terms of finding suitable applicants for parenthood.

Which seemed to make the Decepticons think; Autobots are softies, right? They'd be perfect mothers for Cybertron's future generation of murderers. It was simply an added convenience that there were more femmes on the Autobot's side than there were on the Decepticon's. They wouldn't have the spark to offline their own metal and energon, and overall were almost perfect candidates. It worked out well for the Decepticon forces, and they sent out a private transmission that instructed for the capture of female Autobots, as opposed to them being mercilessly slaughtered like the rest of their kind.

The only flaw in that plan?

Autobot femmes were even _less _willing to be made Decepticon mates than the Decepticon femmes had been.

That was why she was here. Heavy chains hanging from her wrists and ankles, seemingly permanent adornments ever since she'd first visited the dreaded place. A collar had even be added for extra humiliation. The binding material attached firmly to the stone wall behind her, keeping her securely bound in her constantly filthy surroundings. It was a bit of an overkill, to be perfectly honest; as if anyone had a chance of escaping when their Energon levels were kept so dangerously low and vicious Energon bars blocked their way. The small rations of low grade Energon they received once a week barely fought off the constant **"Warning: Energy Levels Low" **that relentlessly popped into her vision, there was simply no way it was adequate enough to potentially fuel some form of rebellion. The owner of the nicknamed Hell Cells definitely didn't want the precious femmes putting up a fight.

On top of that, the guards were but another factor that deterred opposition. It was difficult to attempt resistance when your body constantly ached and burned from the many scorch marks that riddled your chassis, courtesy of the patrolling officers who took far too much delight in using their Energon prods. Screaming took a hell of a lot more effort than people cared to realise. And it wasn't like they needed to be provoked or prompted (though Synch had certainly done plenty of that in her earlier days, keeping her mouth shut was a skill she'd had to learn- fast); even some of the shyest and most well-behaved femmes had been relentlessly targeted in the past, for no reason other than the slimy 'Cons had merely gotten bored. They'd even been dragged into the middle of the hallways so everyone could bare witness.

Synch didn't know if all femmes were treated equally as badly once they'd been "freed" from the Holding Cells (which the occupants had nicknamed the Hell Cells quite fittingly). For all she knew, life might be genuinely better under the care of a Decepticon mech... even if she were destined to be nothing but a meager possession. As disgusting as the thought was- and indeed she cringed at the idea of having to interface with such a creature- there were days when she silently wished she was out _there _instead of trapped in _here. _What she wouldn't do to obtain a single glance of her home planet; the one she had yearned to return to for so long, despite being under complete Decepticon control.

There had been one point when she'd thought she'd had a shot at returning, too. An open transmission had been sent out not long after the Decepticons' decision to enslave the females, offering refuge for Autobots and Decepticons alike. They were proposing a truce; an opportunity to reform Cyberton and unite their race once more, to wipe away the scars of war and turn over a new leaf. It was basically what every desperate Autobot could dream of, and Synch had been no exception. Finally, a chance to make amends and return to a normal life. No more running, no more loss, no more murder... heck, she'd almost completely forgotten what a life without war had been like.

The spoken words- having been delivered from the charming glossa of Megatron himself-had seemed convincing enough. That was until Autobots began foolishly approaching their new, Decepticon-ruled planet, and were met with a much less friendlier welcome than they had been anticipating. Tales of mechs being murdered on sight and femmes dragged from view began to spread throughout the galaxy. Bots stopped coming, realisations dawned, and the Autobots plunged back into depression- and hiding.

Once the transmission failed to drawn in any new customers, increased numbers of hunting parties werescattered into space, until the pursuit of female Autobots eventually developed into a fully-fledged slave trading business. It had been one of these hunting parties that had captured Synch in the end. Though her small band of companions had considered approaching the "new and improved" Cybertron earlier, they'd ultimately decided on sitting back and seeing what happened. Wisely so, it had turned out. Not that their moment of justified suspicion had stopped the end result from being the same.

She released a small sigh, closing her blue optics and leaning her head against the grime-slicked wall. It was confusing to both fear and dream of the day when she would finally be free of this place. Mechs occasionally came and went from the cells, but as far as she knew they were all guards and not potential buyers. Not that it was a huge surprise: Autobot femmes were supposedly quite expensive, and not always affordable to the common mech. In a way it was understandable. The mechs that brought them in wasted a lot of energy and resources tracking the females down, who by no means lived within easy reach of Cybertron. Anyone with half a processor had scattered to the far corners of the galaxy, putting as much distance between themselves and the Decepticons as possible. As far as they knew, to be captured by one of the mech-led parties was to suffer a fate worse than death.

_It wasn't a mech that brought _me _in, though, _Synch thought to herself bitterly, a scowl darkening her features.

Strika- the insufferable 'Con who was behind Synch's capture- had initially seemed like such a sweet and sincere femme. Synch's team had found her aimlessly wandering across the deserted plains, and being the kind souls they were they had taken her in without a second thought. What sort of sparkless wench would leave a poor, defenseless femme on her own, after all? Nobody wanted that Energon on their hands or guilt weighing on their sparks. Even Synch had welcomed her with open arms, having almost been thankful for the fellow female company.

As it turned out she wasn't nearly as innocent as they had originally assumed, and had purposely tracked down Synch and her band to the distant planet. Not one of them would have realised, though. She'd had all of them so tightly wrapped around her little finger that they would have traveled all the way to Cybertron just to pick up her favourite Energon, if she had asked. Her elaborate stories, concerning her unfortunate run-ins with Decepticons and "fallen comrades" she'd lost during an attack, merely encouraged sympathy and acceptance on all fronts. Nothing had seemed even remotely hostile or threatening about her.

Perhaps her unusual interest in Synch should have been an immediate giveaway that something wasn't right. That, or the magical disappearance of Topspin a few days after her arrival- the only mech who had openly doubted her presence.

Synch wasn't going to lie; she'd been absolutely flattered by Strika's attention at first. No one else had ever expressed such an unquestionable desire to know all about her, and the oblivious femme had eaten it all up. They'd traded secrets and swapped information (all of it probably false on Strika's part), staying up in the wee hours of the night and always offering to do patrols together. It was the sort of thing Synch imagined normal femmes doing, and for a time she enjoyed it. Strika had a way of making her forget about their hopeless situation and exploit the little things in life, effectively dismantling Synch's common sense within a matter of days. The real Autobot femme had deluded herself into believing she'd finally found someone who understood her, someone she could always rely on.

What an absolute fool she had been.

It took exactly 6 days before Strika's team decided it was time to move in. Synch's fellow Autobots- her friends- had fought valiantly, but were inevitably defeated. All surviving members of their band were hauled back on to the ship as prisoners, with Strika choosing to maintain her "special interest" in Synch during the journey back to Cybertron. The various torturing and taunting she'd suffered had left as many mental scars as it had physical. Her male teammates weren't spared from the fun, either; they'd been specially saved so Synch could witness their execution, which Strika ensured was as excruciating and painful for them as possible. The images of her long-time teammates, being forced to endure things no normal Cybertronian should have to, were burned into her memory.

During on of their "sessions," Synch had once gathered the courage to ask Strika why she did what she did. Why turn the Autobot femmes in, when she was a female herself? (Albeit a Decepticon one, but the point remained.) Strika had merely replied that, if the plan with Autobots didn't work, then the Decepticons would start forcing their own into the same fate. And there was no way in Pit Strika wanted that to happen to her. Imprisoning Auotbot femmes was a welcome sacrifice, in exchange for her own freedom.

_"Taking one for the team," _Synch quoted her, bitterly so.

A distinctive hissing noise interrupted her reminiscing, a familiar indicator that the doors to the holding cells were opening. For the briefest, most fragile of moments the entire brig was flooded with light, eliciting soft hisses of protest from those who were blinded by it's glare. It had been a long time since any of them had experienced proper lighting- or even seen the light of day, for that matter- excluding these brief intervals that typically marked a changing of guards. Few other Transformer bothered to visit the cells. The rare buyer might stop in every so often, but most femmes found that to be more reason to shrink into the corner and make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Metal footsteps clicked over the dusty floor, yet nobody made any indication that they were interested in who had entered. How could they be? If they were anything like Synch, they'd have seen enough of the guards' ugly faceplates to last a lifetime. It was the same mechs in and out each day; harassing, abusing, tormenting, over and over again. It was no surprise that the Autobot femmes remained unresponsive, either recharging or blankly staring ahead of themselves, undoubtedly as lost in their thoughts as Synch had been mere moments ago. The Hell Cells contained nothing but defeated spirits, shells that were impassive ghosts of their former selves.

Yet, unlike her fellow prisoners, Synch was the only one who's intrigue was triggered when a new, unfamiliar sound registered in her audio receptors. This constant routine of guards-in-guards-out, the one she had grown so accustomed to, could perhaps account for why she was so surprised when she didn't just hear the echo of marching footsteps, but also the rustling of what seemed to be metallic wings. Her optics darted upwards with open curiosity, settling on the form of a bird-like Transformer to be the source of the noise, positioned at the front of the group of guards. It swooped upwards, landing on one of the support beams that ran horizontally across the ceiling, blazing optics surveying its surroundings.

It wasn't often that someone new entered the Hell Cells.

Synch made absolutely zero effort to hide the fact that she was staring, but it took her a moment to realise that it was unabashedly gazing back at her from its perch, regarding her with a similar sense of curiosity. Even as he tilted his head to the side, she subconsciously followed suit, unintentionally mimicking the bird... much to his apparent amusement. He ruffled his metal feathers, a glint in his optics betraying how entertaining he found the exchange. For a single precious moment, Synch found that she couldn't careless about his faction, and the most vaguest of smiles touched her lips.

"Lazerbeak?" a guard interrupted, capturing his attention and effectively shattering the moment, "This way."

The bird gave a contemptuous snort, spreading its wings and ungracefully taking flight once again. In the blink of an optic, Synch appeared to have been forgotten, yet the bound femme did not let him escape her processor so easily. She continued to silently observe, right up until the doors shut behind them as they entered the next room. Understandably, the bite-sized Decepticon didn't even spare her a second glance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pairings:**

**Megatron/OC, Starscream/OC, Soundwave/OC and Shockwave/OC.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers, or the Decepticons would totally kick ass.**

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><p>It wasn't too long after Lazerbeak's initial visit that the gloomy cells received another unexpected visitor.<p>

In the days leading up to it, Lazerbeak's activity in the underbelly of the ship had dramatically increased. And it wasn't to discuss business arrangements with the guards, either, which would've made sense considering that Soundwave was said to be in charge of the organisation of captured femmes. No, instead of carrying out duties the avian-like 'bot would perch amongst those same rafters, every so often coming to silently converse with Synch- and only Synch- in his own amusing type of way. Not once had she actually heard him speak a single word- and part of her was beginning to doubt whether he even had a functioning voice- but the brief interactions were enough to liven her up a bit. At least it gave her something to look forward to amongst the monotonous existence that had become her life.

Still, by all means he was a Decepticon, and Synch had not necessarily forgotten this. She'd spent many nights pondering whether she should be suspicious or grateful for the bird's evident interest in her, as well as internally berating herself for becoming so attached to the tiny Transformer in such a small amount of time. It wasn't like she didn't know who he was; her teammates had often spoken of him with contempt, citing his devious abilities and the many deaths he could be held accountable for. Don't underestimate his size, they'd explicitly warned her. But she wasn't about to look a gifted turbofox in the mouth, even one that was infamous for his apparent sadism. The Hell Cells were far from being the most interesting place in the universe, and it may have been sheer boredom alone that prompted her to choose gratitude as the more appropriate option.

Trust issues and whatnot be damned, what more could they possibly do to her?

But today... today so happened to be different. There were some days when Lazerbeak just didn't show up, which wasn't particularly surprising to her. He probably had plenty of better things to do than sit around in a stuffy cell entertaining a prisoner all day. What did come across as surprising, however, was the moments when she caught herself sorely missing his company on the days he _didn't _appear. She'd gone from hoping for the impossible occasion when an Autobot crashed through the door and broke her out of the depressing hellhole, to wistfully awaiting the next time the small Decepticon would be gracious enough to visit. Certainly he was far more exciting than anything else that went on in the dreary cells. He was inconsistent (as far as she could tell) in terms of the times and days he appeared, but he did come eventually, and that was all that mattered.

If there was one thing he _was _consistent about, though, it was the fact that he always came alone. _Always. _Synch had been secretly glad of this simple fact. After all, if Soundwave were to find out about the interactions, what was stopping him from forbidding Lazerbeak from returning? Then it'd just be back to the same old routine, and she wasn't sure she could live through that again. After the small taste of freedom and normality Lazerbeak offered her, could anyone really blame her? The envious and chastising glares of the other femmes were all worth it, so long as she could have her avian companion as a break from her dull imprisonment.

Yet she should've known better than to think he'd stick to this consistency. In fact, she probably shouldn't have been all that surprised when the doors slid open and an unfamiliar mech stroke in, Lazerbeak comfortably perched on his upheld wrist. A small part had always acknowledged that her semi-friendship (if you could call it that) with Lazerbeak was running on borrowed time, and any day he was going to fly out that door for the last time. The aim of the game had simply been to delay that occasion as much as possible; keep Lazerbeak coming back, for the benefit of her own sanity. Only now she was beginning to question whether she gave in to her desires too easily.

Despite having never seen the mech before, there was no mistaking his identity. The utter dread that momentarily stalled her spark was not one she was going to forget anytime soon. Strika, or even Megatron himself, may as well have strolled through the doors.

_No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no..._

This wasn't supposed to happen! Was Lazerbeak thick or something? Or maybe, if she was lucky, this was a simple routine meeting and Lazerbeak would smartly take no notice of her. She could only hope. Meanwhile, femmes visibly shrank into the walls at the sight of Soundwave, who was being escorted by a guard about a head bigger than him. Synch froze as Lazerbeak's optics raked over the cell, presumably searching for her, and letting out a delighted squawk once he'd singled her out. She silently cursed as he took to the air and landed in his customary spot, gazing down at the horror-stricken femme with obvious amusement. So much for that plan.

Soundwave followed his companion's gaze, though due to Synch's averted optics she didn't see him do this as much as she felt it. Her own gaze was stubbornly cast away, doing her best to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched. Maybe if she pretended she didn't exist, maybe if she feigned oblivious confusion, they would get bored and leave her be. She swore she could hear Lazerbeak cackling from above. This couldn't be happening...

"This one?" Soundwave growled from directly outside her cell, causing Synch to nearly jump a foot in the air.

Wait... what? What did he mean by that? Had Lazerbeak been discussing her? Told on her? Was she about to get deactivated? What on Cybertron had she even done wrong that deserved punishment?! Was she forbidden from interacting with other Decepticons? Had Lazerbeak- that stupid piece of frag- purposely been getting her into trouble? Oh Primus... they weren't going to tell _Strika, _were they? She hadn't even realised she'd been doing anything wrong, how could they possibly justify taking any kind of action against her...

"Oh yesss..." Lazerbeak hissed, with what she swore sounded like a grin in his voice, "What'ss the matter sssweetspark? Gone shy all of a ssudden?"

_So the little slagger can talk._

Nice of him to only reveal this little fact now. No doubt he'd been mocking her for a long time with his silence, his own little private joke to chuckle about whenever he left. Of course, she shouldn't have been as surprised as she was. Decepticons were the most slippery, dishonourable, deceitful slaggers to ever infect the galaxy. She'd been stupid to believe that there was no harm in talking to him- that there was nothing he could possibly use against her or lie to her about. Somehow, he'd managed to do just that without even speaking a word to her... the kind of remarkable feat only a Decepticon could be capable of._  
><em>

Synch didn't honour the smug bird with a reply. Clinging to the somewhat useless hope that ignoring them would successfully shake off their attention, she mutely glared at the corner of her cell, denta gritting together to prevent the retort that was just _begging _to slip from her vocaliser. Ignoring them was never going to cut it, though, and deep down she knew that. Such a strategy never worked on a pair of high-ranking mechs like Soundwave and Lazerbeak, who had actually managed a level of above-average intelligence that was rarely found amongst their faction. They- unlike the typical playground bullies- happened to have their wits about them. What a refreshing, yet unfortunate, change.

Not to mention the guard was still lingering, and he would be sure not to let any act of insubordination go unpunished. Any chance to use that Energon prod was always swiftly taken advantage of. She visably flinched as mentioned device was striked against the bars of her cage; a threat of what was to come if she refused to comply, and her spark contracted as vivid memories flashed across her processor. She'd been on the receiving end of that thing a few too many times to remain impassive about it being brandished at her.

"When your superiors ask ya a question, ya're meant to answer, Autoscum!"

Lazerbeak chittered excitedly as the prod was thrust at her again, clearly enthused at the prospect of torture. Synch did her utmost best to ignore both him and her fellow femmes, who were now watching the scene with rapt attention. They probably thought that she had this coming to her, after fraternising with the enemy for so long... even a seemingly harmless one. It was almost as if the entire Hell Cells were holding their breath, no doubt from a mixture of apprehension and a mutual fear of redirecting attention onto themselves. There were no heroes in these parts. Not anymore.

Despite Synch's initial thoughts concerning the bird, there was definitely nothing _harmless _about Lazerbeak now. Even as she raised her head to look the traitorous bird in the optics, there was no misinterpreting the sadistic glint in his blazing optics, no mistaking the enjoyment he was getting out of her blatantly uncomfortable situation. Anger caused her fists to clench, though she was unclear whether it was directed at herself or the asshole that was practically smirking down at her. Who was at fault for the situation, afterall? Was she responsible simply because she not have known better, or should Lazerbeak have resisted the urge to be a fragger?

The second option almost made her snort. Yeah, right. And grounders would fly.

Before the guard could make another pass at her with that dreaded device- which he was no doubt _itching _to do- Synch spat out the most appropriate answer she could think up.

"Go frag yourself."

Her tone didn't hold the amount of venom it could've, largely due to the fact that she hadn't actually spoken in Primus-knew how long, but she liked to think that her falsely sweet smile was a nice touch. Who needed spiteful tones when you wielded the all-powerful abilities of sarcasm and smart-assery? As far as she was concerned, she believed it got the message across pretty well on its own.

Too well, it seemed. The guard roared in utter outrage and Lazerbeak's optics narrowed to barely visible slits, which she thought was a massive improvement from his prior self-satisfaction. Who had the upper hand now, slaghead? Except... her own satisfaction...? Very, _very_ short-lived. It took all of 5 seconds for the guard to have wrenched the door open and advance on her, Energon prod sparking menacingly. The hated device was jammed into a joint before she even had a chance to object, sending Synch into a series of vicious convulsions that caused the chains to bite into her wrists and ankles.

It was a bit like experiencing the launch of fireworks... except they were going off inside you, with about ten times the intensity. A soundless shriek refused to leave her vocaliser, the electrical current disrupting any instructions her processor attempted to make; or the few instructions she was capable of, considering it was also doing a pretty good job of disrupting and preventing all coherent thought. She gained a precious few moments of relief whenever the rod was removed, only to have it stabbed into a different joint, creating a seemingly never-ending cycle that dragged on for an unnecessary length of time. Whether it was due to the guard taking advantage of the opportunity, him feeling the need to make an example of her in front of Soundwave or an unfortunate combination of both, it felt like an eternity before the torture finally ended; thanks to Soundwave, no less.

The mech's voice cut straight through her processor like a knife, somehow managing to register in her frazzled processor; _"Desist."_

The guard- perhaps too hyped on his own sadistic pleasure- didn't acknowledge the order, unfortunately for Synch, and resumed the relentless assault. Just when she believed she was going to be electrocuted to deactivation, she was vaguely aware of the _whoosh _of air passing closeby, followed by the prod finally _(finally!)_ being ripped from her body and the surprised _oof _of the guard as he landed on his aft. Unable to help herself, and suddenly uncaring of keeping up her proud appearance in front of her antagonisers, Synch sagged to the floor. Her denta sunk into her bottom lip, coaching herself into regaining her steely resolve and get a fragging _hold _of herself. Any display of hurt or discomfort could simply not be tolerated. These Decepticons were like a pack of cyberwolves: they thrived off even the smallest signs of weakness.

It almost encouraged them to push you harder, see just how loud they could make you scream...

She tentatively onlined her optics, having been unaware that she'd even switched them off in the first place. In the static-y haze that greeted her, she only just managed to make out the hovering form of Lazerbeak with the Energon prod in his claws, chucking it into the corner of cell. He proceeded to land closer to the femme than she personally would've thought wise, appearing particularly unworried about any possible threat she might pose to him. She actually didn't blame him. In the state she was in, she was reluctant to even open her mouth, let alone make an attempt at physically assaulting someone who had the clear advantage.

Meanwhile the guard, who looked rather stunned at the sudden shift in positions, hurriedly scrambled to his pedes and muttered a quick apology to Soundwave. He moved to recollect the Energon prod, but was promptly slapped away by one of Lazerbeak's wings, which seemed to get the message across. Sycn wasn't entirely sure whether she should be thankful for the interference, or still holding a grudge against the small Decepticon for bringing Soundwave along.

There were a few moments of tense silence, during which it took Synch a while to realise that Soundwave was observing her with a scrutinous (albeit intrigued) look, head titled to the side in a similar fashion to what Lazerbeak had done during her first personal encounter with him. She probably would've giggled at the similarity, had the circumstance been different. Instead, she cautiously returned his gaze with from her position on the floor, already suspicious of his intentions. Her faceplate was schooled into a hard expression, hoping it would discourage any further attempts at embarrassing, degrading or generally humiliate her. As it was, she disliked how difficult the mech was to read. For all she knew, he could be thinking anything from inventive ways to make he scream to a surprise sparkday party. Maybe both... though that wouldn't be a particularly fun sparkday celebration, she had to admit.

Couldn't they just leave her alone? Had they not had their fun? She wasn't supposed to talk to Decepticons, fine, she got the message. She'd made a mistake in trusting Lazerbeak, she'd definitely learnt her lesson. Soundwave's gaze was simply making her uncomfortable, what more could they possibly want from her?

The moment was soon ruined by the bumbling guard, who was clearly as unnerved by the tense silence as Synch. She could still feel the optics of her fellow femmes burning holes in her armour, though she knew many would have glanced away during the electrical torture. They were in desperate need of entertainment; there was no doubt about that. But very few of them were close to being sadists, and everyone had been on the receiving end of that prod at some point of another. It was a hard spectacle to watch when you knew exactly what it felt like.

"Sir- Soundwave- I- uh- my apologies sir, I got carried awa-"

"I'll have her."

Synch reeled backwards, optics widening in disbelief. Had she heard him correctly? Was he joking? ...Was Soundwave even capable of joking?

Her shock was widely echoed throughout the Hell Cells, and she swore she heard several muffled gasps from her surrounding femmes. How had things taken a turn for the worst so quickly? Sure, the priceless look on the guard's faceplate was almost chuckle-worthy, and she probably would've laughed if she wasn't so disturbed by the events that were unveiling right in front of her. What was even more discomforting was that she swore Lazerbead was _purring _beside her. At least somebody was pleased with the decision...

__Please tell me I misheard.__

Synch had always been fragging desperate to leave the Hell Cells, there was no mistaking that. But when she'd imagined her life on the outside, it'd been with some nameless 'Con that no one had ever heard of. She'd live a fairly normal life (or as normal as a slave life could get), devoting most of her time to raising their evil Pit spawn hatchlings with the occasional rape episode chucked in every now and again. It hadn't been a perfect image, but it was one she'd grown accustomed to. One she'd almost been _prepared_ to accept.

What she _hadn't _prepared herself for was being taken in by one of Megatron's most trusted, sadistic, and annoyingly intelligent confidants. That had been a scenario that was so unlikely she'd never once bothered to consider it. What could he _possibly _see in Synch that prompted him to choose her? Had Lazerbeak actually been scouting for slaves that day, and she'd accidentally caught his optic? Unlikely... the guards looked like they'd been taking him to a separate area.

Whatever his reasons, it couldn't be good news.

"You want _her?" _the guard asked, as if he couldn't quite believe his audio receptors.

He wasn't the only one, Synch could assure him of that.

"That's what I said," Soundwave replied coolly, a touch of impatience shadowing his tone.

The guard shot him a bewildered look; the type that made Synch question whether she should be offended. She wasn't _that_ bad, was she? Perhaps a little rough around the edges, in both appearance and personality, but what did they honestly expect? They'd imprisoned her for Primus' sake. She was hardly going to thank them and kiss their afts.

Regardless of his personal thoughts on the matter, the guard undid the restraints that bound her to the wall, though freedom of movement still effectively evaded Synch's grasp. Whilst her pedes were released, her hands remained cuffed, connected to a collar that had been secured around her neck. The Decepticons certainly took no chances with their most prized possessions. She personally found the extents they went to rather unnecessary, even if a femme did manage to escape... well, there weren't many places they could escape to. No doubt they'd be apprehended or killed in a matter of seconds, if they were lucky.

_Something tells me there are worse fates out there than being a slave._

Even as the chains fell away from her body, Synch was reluctant to move. Whether it was a product of being in denial or sheer terror, she couldn't make herself willingly walk into Soundwave's arms. The guard had little sympathy for her situation, however, and her joints groaned in complaint as she was grabbed by her shoulder and yanked to her pedes. He directed her towards the door with a hard shove that nearly ended up with her aft back on the floor, her legs just about giving way underneath the unfamiliar weight and the world tipping sharply as her processor desperately worked to recalibrate protocols that hadn't been used in a considerably long time. To her credit, and surprise, she did manage to hold her own.

That was until the guard's rough man-handling was replaced with Soundwave's, and before her pedes could catch up she'd been effortlessly tugged out of the cell. Unable to regain control, she couldn't stop the sudden forward-motion in time, stumbling straight into his warmer body. Hands gripped his armour in an attempt to steady herself, though she immediately came to regret the contact and the close proximity. Standing next to the Decepticon suddenly made her feel uncomfortably small... defenseless... _vulnerable. _

She was far from being the biggest 'bot around, and despite the fact that her head managed to clear his shoulder, his presence was unsettling. Her optics uncertainly trailed up to meet Soundwave's, expecting some kind of violent reaction, and it was yet another decision she instantly regretted. Gazing up at Soundwave suddenly made her feel considerably helpless, attempting to shrink inside herself just to escape that calculated stare. Her armour crawled at the sensation of his hand on her wrist, and knowing that she had just stumbled headfirst into him wasn't helping. It almost seemed like she'd done it willingly. _Willingly! _As if.

There was no hiding from the sinister grin that he directed down at her, or Lazerbeak's cackling laugh as she flinched away from his piercing gaze. Something about that knowing smirk that set her nerves on edge.

_Oh Primus Synch, don't feel intimidated,_ she mentally groaned, _that's the worse thing you could do right now._

The perceptive look he was giving her already spelled trouble; the last thing she wanted him to know was that he scared her witless. No, not scared, she corrected herself. Just... unnerved. She couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her spark, especially not when the menace himself was standing so awfully close. A shaky step backwards would have put some distance between the pair, but his other hand was on her hip now, and the one locked around her wrist certainly wasn't letting her go anywhere. It was like he was basking in her terror.

Aforementioned bird ungracefully landed on Soundwave's shoulder, a position that was obviously unfamiliar to him, his amused optics not leaving Synch. Apparently Soundwave was not the only one enjoying the uncomfortable moment, if Lazerbeak's sneer was anything to go by. She absently wondered if there would ever come a day when she could wipe that smug look straight off his faceplate.

"You're mine," Soundwave growled, lips so close to her processor that she felt the warm gust of air ghost over the side of her helm.

Her spark almost stalled in her chamber, the two simple words chilling her to the core. The corresponding shudder wasn't missed by anyone within the room, either, and with a dark grin Soundwave pushed her to make her start walking in front of him. She forced herself to move forwards, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel a million optics watching her as she went. Primus this couldn't be happening...

"Where are we going?" she dared to ask once they'd stepped out of the brig and into the unfamiliar halls, hating the hoarse sound of her voice.

Lazerbeak was the one to reply, _"To Ssstrika."_


	3. Chapter 3

**IMPORTANT:**** As of now, this story is officially set on "M" thanks to changes made to this chapter. Squeamish people, NOT the story for you. This has blatant references to gore and rape, and things are only going to get worse the further this story progresses.**

**And while I'm here: my lovely little reviewers, much love and appreciation for keeping me motivated. Shine on yo' crazy fuckers x**

**Pairings:  
><strong>**Megatron/OC, Starscream/OC, Soundwave/OC and Shockwave/OC.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers, or the Decepticons would totally kick ass.**

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><p>Synch was unusually subdued for the rest of the walk.<p>

The struggle that had followed Lazerbeak's answer hadn't lasted particularly long, if she were being completely honest with herself.

A weakened, frightened, and slightly fragged off Synch had been little match for the likes of Soundwave. Her feeble bid at escape (there was no _way _she was returning to Strika!) had easily been thwarted by Lazerbeak, and then in an act of desperation she'd rather foolishly tried to lash out at the bird's companion; a difficult feat when one had their hands cuffed. An amused Soundwave had been forced to deal with her thrashing and attempts to slap him away, Synch determined to bring some kind of harm to the offending mech in any was possible. In the end, she'd found herself in an awkward position, pushed up and pinned against the wall by Soundwave's body... which had been far too close for a femme who was destined to spend the rest of her miserable existence as an eternal fucktoy.

She'd abruptly ceased up, but once she'd realised it was going no further she'd settled on glaring at the Decepticon, letting all her hate and contempt become well-known to him. To Strika... the very thought disgusted her! Why would he even _think_ about bringing her back to that _thing?_ If Soundwave cared- as unlikely as that was, he'd undoubtedly found great entertainment in the struggle- he didn't show it, and cruelly dug his sharp claws into the different appendages he was holding in order to keep her restrained. In the action, there lay a very clear message: to behave, or suffer the consequences for it. Synch cringed at the sharp pain her processor was registering, yet despite her will to avoid Strika and her clear outrage with Soundwave, her will to escape this ordeal relatively unharmed was far greater.

Reluctantly, she had bowed her head in submission, gritting her denta together in frustration. Don't get ger wrong- she was still angry with him. Pissed, even. But her desire to live a reasonably pain-free life, particularly after what Strika had put her through, ultimately outweighed her apparent fury. Sound had, mercifully, withdrawn his claws. But when she'd refused to budge, refused to continue on to Strika's office...

Well, that was the reason Synch found herself in her current position.

Thrown over Soundwave's shoulder in a rather disgraceful manner, she was being marched down the hallway, one of his arms loosely resting on her legs to keep her in place. Unfortunately, that wasn't quite enough. Synch was, much to her shame and horror (and the mech's amusement, if his dark chuckles were anything to go by), gripping whatever part of Soundwave she could just to make sure she didn't slip of his shoulder... which would be a downright _mortifying _experience, in her opinion. At least she wasn't wandering to Strika's room her own accord anymore, no longer traipsing down the hall like an ignorant lamb skipping along to the slaughterhouse.

No, instead it was more like a well-informed lamb being dragged to the slaughterhouse.

Lazerbeak was seated on Soundwave's opposing shoulder, making the occasional comment, but normally not to Synch. In fact, Synch believed she was beginning to understand what it was going to be like as a slave for the rest of her life: ignored and invisible, only paid any attention when their owners wanted something. Synch kind of preferred it that way, anyway. It was much easier than trying to think up a suitable reply to one of their taunting remarks. And there were more than _plenty_ of jests they could make whilst she was stuck in such an incriminating position.

It seemed old coding died hard, though. There was no crushing that instinct that demanded for her to be seen and noticed, to entertain and fascinate surrounding mechs, if only to attract a possible mate. And letting them ignore her? Completely counter-productive. Her body didn't seem to understand, unfortunately, that she had already attracted one... only she wasn't as willing to accept him. Maybe they did this on purpose, maybe it was some kind of tactic to trick the femmes into craving their attention, make the 'Bots more desperate and eager to please them...

_Unlikely, 'Cons aren't capable of thinking that far ahead, _she sniggered to herself.

New question: why was he bringing her to Strika? Synch could only imagine... and none of the outcomes were particularly happy. She could already feel the Energon whips, and cat o' nine tails, and various other torture devices slicing through her sensitive circuitry. And here she'd come to believe that she'd already been through all of this- that she'd had her fair share of pain and torture for an entire lifetime. Perhaps Soundwave begged to differ. Her attitude, her behaviour back in the cells, couldn't exactly be described as exemplary. Perhaps he thought additional discipline (Decepticon-style) was in order.

_Why me?_

She had a feeling she was going to be asking herself that question a lot from here on out.

A few moments of silence passed, disturbed only by the rustling of Lazerbeak's wings and Soundwave's footsteps. Certain movements, such as the rounding of a corner or an access panel having to be pushed in order to open a door, caused the femme to tighten her hold on the mech at times, fearful of taking an embarrassing fall. Lazerbeak seemed to chitter at this, giving Soundwave a look that clearly meant _something, _and the mech holding her would let out yet another dark chuckle. Though this discomfited the captive femme as well, she deemed herself capable of putting up with it for a short time... afterall, she didn't intend to make a habit of being carried around like a sack of potatoes.

Some time passed before she gathered the courage to speak again, shifting uneasily on Soundwave's shoulder.

"Why... why to Strika?"

"Strika, head of office. Mandatory forms must be filed."

Synch barely suppressed a shiver as the body beneath her vibrated with each spoken word, blue optics squeezing shut until the strange sensation had passed. She did her best to ignore the darkly amused glance Lazerbeak gave her, evidently having noticed the uncomfortable reaction, and was taking more than enough pleasure in it. In any other circumstances, she might've made a rude gesture or comment, just to ruffle his feathers. His betrayal was still fresh in her mind (could it even be classified as a betrayal? Well, who cared. She felt betrayed, so it had to qualify), and her mood with him and his "friend" certainly had not improved since she'd found out they were taking her to Strika.

Still... if Soundwave was true to his word, and they _were _only going to fill out some forms, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad? Pit, maybe Strika had acquired some new toy and had completely forgotten Synch even existed! One could only hope. On the other hand- Soundwave _was_ a Decepticon. Much like Lazerbeak. The likelihood of him actually being truthful about this was extremely low, and she wouldn't be shocked if he ended up crossing her, too. It probably ran in the energon.

Strika's previous... _obsession _(if you wanted to call it that) with Synch was a definite worry, regardless. Would she renew her liking for the Autobot femme, once she laid optics on her again? Synch didn't want to imagine how that scenario would play out. She hadn't seen the femme for a long time, and she'd been intending... _hoping... _to keep it that way. What would she do? How would she react? More importantly, would Soundwave interfere with any potential attempts Strika made to harm her? Would he stand by and watch? Join in? She wouldn't put it past him; they were Decepticons, afterall. Well-known and sadistic Decepticons at that...

_Primus, _she groaned, hiding her face in Soundwave's shoulder, _have mercy._

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><p>When Soundwave stopped to press the access panel to a familiar-looking room, Synch was already mentally bracing herself for the horror that was about to ensure. She knew that door too well. In fact, she probably recognised that whole fragging hallway. It was Strika's door: the door that led into her office, followed by another door beyond that that opened into that dreaded chamber. There was no suppressing Synch's shiver, reburying her faceplate into Soundwave's back, paying little heed or care to his identity. Strika had done a lot more damage to Synch than Soundwave had currently achieved... whether he was her future rapist or not, she would take him over the demon femme any day.<p>

The door slide aside with a menacing _hiss, _Synch chewing her bottom lip as Soundwave moved into the room at a confident pace- a lot more confidently than Synch would've entered, anyway. In fact, had she been on her own two pedes, she had no doubt that she would've been halfway back to the cells by now. Anywhere, even the _Hell Cells, _was better than this room. Too many times she'd been dragged through here by guards, too many times she'd been thrown on that desk, too many times she'd suffered Strika's sick perversions. There were times when she didn't leave that room for days on end, often passing out on the berth only to wake up to round two...

Too soon, Synch's pedes roughly connected with the floor, potentially revealing her faceplate to the twisted femme. Almost immediately Synch cast her optics downwards, stubbornly staring at her feet, doing her best not to draw attention to herself. Prior experience told her that she would be sitting behind _that_ desk, as she always was, and every fibre of her being told her she was safer not looking up to confirm this. She had to conceal her identity as best as possible, minimise any risk of being discovered... She did make an attempt to hide behind Soundwave, but the mech wasn't stupid (or blind), and his digits wrapped around her arm in a firm grip, firmly keeping her in place. Damn him.

"Ah, Soundwave," the familiar voice purred, sending an involuntary shudder down Synch's spinal struts.

How many times had Synch heard that tone, so deceptively sultry and alluring, followed by the excruciating pain of her circuits being ripped to shreds? She could almost hear the echoes of long-repressed memories trying to force their way to the surface, filled with taunting remarks and false caresses. One particularly unwelcome one wrestled its way to the forefront of her processor, a certain event that had occurred soon after their landing on Cybertron. Synch, dragged in for the typical session, had been expecting the typical round of relentless, pointless, sadistic agony. It'd been the day things had turned up a notch, as if she hadn't thought previous sessions were distressing enough.

__Smooth digits brushed down the side of Synch's faceplate, lingering long enough to leave a tingling sensation along the metal flesh. Almost unwittingly the Autobot leaned into the touch, enjoying the rare gentleness, even if she knew it was to be short-lived. Sometimes she wondered if Strika suffered from some form of bi-polar disorder, though it was more likely that she merely enjoyed messing with her head. The soft touches were often followed up by a hard slap, a punch, or even claws being raked across her cheek. It was a ploy to lull her into a false sense of security. It always was. That didn't mean that Synch couldn't enjoy it while it lasted, though.__

_"Oh Synch, you poor thing," the voice had crooned, crouching down to optic-level with the defeated femme, "look at you, baby. How'd you let yourself get into this state?"_

_Synch didn't know how to reply. She thought it was safer to keep her mouth shut, knowing very well that she had a habit of letting her glossa run free and get herself into more trouble. Strika was impartial to the silence, continuing her random stroking and fondling, occasionally tracing old scars that she'd inflicted. She pursed her lips whenever she came across one, looking rather unimpressed, which didn't make much sense to Synch. She'd been the one to put them there, for Primus' sake. If they displeased her so much, she could stop her stupid games and release her-_

_The Autobot hissed in pain as a digit dug into one particularly fresh wound, yanking away from Strika and fixing her with a spiteful glare. The Decepticon femme smirked, holding her gaze as she made a show of licking off the Energon that had seeped onto her digit, before returning to her former gentleness. Synch had her wits about her this time, though, and would jerk away whenever she got close to anything that was far too recent. The 'Con made a tsk-ing sound, sliding closer and wrapping her arms around her neck. Synch didn't think much of the gesture, meeting the intense gaze of her torturer with one that was rather bleak in comparison. Strika... always up to her usual games._

_"Mmm, you have no idea what you're going to do to those 'Cons," Strika murmured, her lips pressed against Synch's audio receptor._

_Synch didn't react to the words. She didn't react to much anymore, especially not when Strika was involved._

_That was until a pair of lips crashed against hers, a glossa snaking into her agape mouth and rubbing up against her own. The sensation wasn't something Synch was familiar was, nor one she'd expected to experience in a long time. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but a hand groped the back of her head, Strika's other arm snaking around her waist and grinding her body against Synch's own. For a few precious moments, Synch didn't know how to react. She was having trouble processing what was taking place, having even more trouble believing what was actually happening. This was taking it too far... Strika's mind games were normally fragged up, but they drew a line. She always drew a line..._

_Without thinking about what she was doing, Synch cautiously embraced Strika, systems unwittingly humming to life. The taller femme guided her to the desk that dominated the interior of the room, lips still interlocked, carelessly shoving the arrangement of datapads onto the floor to make way for her Autobot partner. Synch slid into the available space, breaking away from Strika for the briefest of movements. The Decepticon pushed her down into a lying position, crawling over her vulnerable form and straddling her waist. Synch's spark began to whir at a faster pace, even as her processor insisted that something was off about the situation._

_Strika gazed down at Synch, optics dark with lustful appreciation and lips graced with a seductive smirk._

_"I'm going to be reluctant to give you away."_

**_No! _**Synch snarled, forcefully shoving the memory out of her processor.

Lazerbeak let out a delighted squawk from his perch on Soundwave's shoulder, Synch peeking up just in time to watch him take to the air and land on Strika's desk, affectionately nuzzling the Decepticon's hand. The lithe and, daresay, attractive femme let out a chuckle, petting the bird-like Decepticon almost absent-mindedly. Synch felt an unexplainable surge of jealousy, though she couldn't place its source or its cause. Strika, who hadn't noticed Synch yet, turned her calm gaze onto Soundwave.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Request to purchase femme."

Strika only seemed to notice Synch then, optics flicking to the prisoner with open curiosity. Without intending to, the Autobot cringed and averted her gaze again, trying to shrink away from the stare. Oh Primus, she didn't want to be there. The office alone was almost sending her into a panic attack, digits digging into her palm as she tried to hold herself together, trying to strangle all the memories that were threatening to over-run her processor. Maybe Strika didn't recognise her. Maybe she'd been so caught up in her job, finding newer and funner femmes to humiliate, that Synch was just another face in the crowd.

Unfortunately, judging from her predatory grin that Synch spied from the corner of her optic, it was obvious the exact opposite had happened. What was that cliche saying? Absence makes the spark grow fonder?

"Synch!" Strika greeted her as if she were an old friend, though the look on her faceplate was one of darker intentions. "Long time no see."

Her glossa swiped over lips, obviously reliving some favoured memories of her own, a tantalising snicker adorning her face as she said it. Synch twitched in Soundwave's grasp, denta sinking into her bottom lip as she tried to steel herself, resisting the urge to cower behind the mech. She couldn't let the femme know just how terrified she was, couldn't give her that kind of satisfaction. Funnily enough, that was easier said than done. Her spark was racing in her chestplate, she couldn't meet her optics, unbidden memories were pushing at her consciousness. The femme, her mannerisms, her entire _aura _were painful reminders to the sessions Synch had once been forced to endure.

Only a squeeze from Soundwave brought her anxiety relatively under control, perhaps unintentionally reassuring her that she was under his protection of sorts. Surely Soundwave would not appreciate his slave suffering further damaged before he'd made his purchase? Her armour was already extensively marred with scars and general filth, there was no way he'd accept her in a worse state. Unless it was done by his own hand... No, she couldn't think about that. She needed to get it together. The last thing she wanted to do was prove to Strika just how badly she'd been affected by their all-too-frequent bouts.

Lazerbeak didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. He probably didn't care, Synch noted bitterly. He was _far _too busy being petted by _Strika._

Speaking of which, she was addressing Soundwave again, rummaging through her draws as she did so.

"I commend your choice, sir. She has the most delicious screams," Strika glanced up and gave Synch a wicked grin, basking in the glare that the Autobot returned. It was obvious that the slave-trader was purposely pushing her buttons. "Where are those datapads...? I have one outlining her basic profile, if you would like a peek. Not that you really need it. I could probably recite the whole thing myself."

Of course she could, she'd probably composed the whole slagging thing herself. Strika had personally infiltrated their old hideout, smooth-talking her way in and batting her optics at anyone who displayed even the smallest of suspicions. All the intel. that the Decepticons had on Synch was undoubtedly a combination of information she'd willingly confessed to the 'Con-in-disguise, had gathered off her former teammates, or was based off Strika's own observations. She wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if there was a section in there that detailed her as "gullible, dim-witted, and easily misled." Strika certainly made her feel like it more often than not.

Three datapads were withdrawn from the draws with a satisfied noise, the red-opticked femme strewing them over the desk. Lazerbeak tilted his head to the side, observing one with a particularly intrigued expression on his face.

"Forms that need filling out, the policy-which I'm sure you're very familiar with- and her profile." Strika pointed to each on respectively, before offering the last one to Soundwave. Much to Synch's horror, he accepted it, subspacing it without a second thought. "As far as discipline goes, she's very... _receptive _to anything that induces pain. Aren't you sweetie?"

Synch's glare intensified, digits twitching as she imagined what it would feel like to strangle the femme to deactivation, or even do unto her what she'd done to Synch's old friends. Strika seemed to take great delight in the malicious glower, her unfairly musical laugh filling the room. If she weren't such an Autobot-hating, energon-lusting, psychotic bitch, Synch probably could've appreciated the femme a lot more. As it happened, she would love nothing more than to bear witness to her excruciating demise.

"I'll take that as a yes. Has a bit of a glossa on her, but that's easily rectified. And any resistance is easily overcome with the customary programming."

Programming? What programming?

Synch glanced to Soundwave for some kind of explanation, but he wasn't paying her any attention. In fact, she hadn't even realised that he'd released his grip on her arm, in favour of filling out the form that would officially confirm her as his legal possession. The prisoner couldn't help but glance away, feeling sick at the very notion. Her optic was caught by a smirking Strika, who was softly drumming her digits against the desk, looking lost in yet another past experience that undoubtedly involved the Autobot being in agonising pain. The sadistic grin she gave Synch- the same grin she'd often wear before unleashing her violent fury onto the femme's frame- bid the emergence of more forbidden memories.

They flashed across her vision, each one threatening to completely rip open her fragile sanity, before being washed away by another that was even more horrifying. Everything from being raped by the cat o' nine to waking up with her body completely paralysed and having to witness Strika slowly slicing her open... she shuddered, closing her optics and attempting to drag her processor back to her present. Sweet Primus, she wasn't shaking, was she?

It didn't seem awfully long before Soundwave handed the form back to Strika, who gave it a once over before nodding her head in satisfaction. Moving out from behind her work station- offering Lazerbeak a wrist as she did so- she motioned for Soundwave to follow her. Synch let out an accidental squeak as Soundwave's hand wrapped around her upper arm again, forcefully pulling the reluctant femme along with him. She vaguely wondered if Soundwave would be acting in a similar fashion if he knew all the slag that Strika had put her through in the past... that was until she realised what a stupid question that was, and that the answer would probably be a deadpan "yes."

"Easy," she grumbled, hoping Strika wouldn't hear her complaint and notice the minor injuries that Soundwave had already inflicted upon her.

The mech gave her a sideways glance, optics narrowed, and unsympathetically increased the amount of pressure he was applying. Her resulting yelp drew a cruel snicker from him, but he let up regardless, stroking the dents in a mocking manner. Apparently Synch wasn't the only Transformer around who had issues with being a smartass. She glared up at him, not that he was taking much notice of her by that point. His attention had shifted back in front of him, optics intently focused forwards.

Abruptly curious as to where she was being led, she redirected her gaze too, only for her spark to drop out of her chamber.

A door. Not just any door, either, but that door where unspeakable things had happened on an almost daily basis. The _exact_ same door that Strika would drag her through- kicking and screaming- before she dished out some kind of undeserved punishment. Strapping her down to the berth, slowly undoing her both physically and mentally, using and abusing the smaller 'Bot however she deemed fit... A choked sob escaped Synch's vocaliser and she dug her heels into the ground, refusing to allow Soundwave to take her any further. He _knew! _He had to know, why else would they be dragging her back there?! No wonder Lazerbeak was so taken by the deranged she-devil, her and Soundwave were as screwed up as each other!

A moment of panic overcame Synch, harshly yanking her arm out of a surprised Soundwave's grasp and hastily backing away from him. She was _not _going back in there! She was not letting them take turns on her, she was not going to let torture her for their own twisted amusement, and she was _not _being sold to fragging Soundwave of all the mother fragging Decepticons!

The Decepticon mech glanced over his shoulder with an annoyed growl, optics narrowing at the defiance that was evident in Synch's own. She flinched- which had pretty much become her normal reaction whenever someone became angry at her these days, but otherwise stood her ground. She was _not, _under any circumstances, going to willingly walk herself into the arms of a demented Decepticon. Particularly not when they had obvious intentions to rip her to literal shreds.

A tense silence followed as both parties participated in a glare-down, neither showing any signs of backing down. Strika was the one who eventually broke it.

"Don't mind her, Soundwave," she chuckled, casually leaning against the very door that had caused the issue in the first place, "she's had some... memorable moments in here. A distraction might be in order."

Synch's hostility redirected itself upon the other femme, bristling at the mention of former experiences. And what she mean by a "distraction"? That couldn't mean anything good.

As busy as she was obsessing over Strika's choice in words, Synch failed to notice that Soundwave was approaching her until it was far too late. Her optics flew open in belligerent shock as his lips were suddenly upon hers, at least one tentacle sliding along her body before dipping under her armour and sending a surge of energy through her circuitry. A gasp, accompanied by a noise of discomfort, gave him the opportunity he needed to slide his glossa in. More tentacles were connecting, completely frazzling her systems as they sent off random bursts of energy with each fastening.

What the _Pit_ did that slimeball think he was doing? Was he completely out of his mind? As if she would _ever _willingly kiss such a dishonourable, despicable, and- _irresistible Decepticon. _Her thoughts changed in the blink of an optic, spark going from clenching in discomfort to spinning in irrefutable joy. Coherent thought had pretty much abandoned Synch by that point; she didn't consider fora second that she should bite down on that devilish glossa. Didn't pay any heed to the tentacles that were now sending constant pulses through her, wreaking absolute havoc on her sensors. She was _far _too preoccupied with her exploration of his body, running her digits over the unfamiliar dips and crevasses. Oooh, he was so shiny too...

For the briefest of moments, she swore she felt another consciousness brushed against hers as more tentacles connected, but some foreign part of her brushed it off. Instead, it redirected her focus back on the sensation of Soundwave's glossa exploring her mouth and the feeling of his heated armour beneath her digits, hands moving to the wheels that protruded from his back. And whatever that foreign part of her said, it seemed like it was a very good reason to obey. Why not? Soundwave wasn't all that bad at kissing, and she unwittingly let out a purr as his glossa playfully ran across her own. A rush of amusement answered her feeling of disappointment when Soundwave finally pulled away, only to teasingly ghost his claws along her body.

Never before had Synch found that sinister grin to be so sexy. Why hasn't she appreciated it before?

As consumed as she was by the sexiness-that-was-Soundwave, she didn't pay any heed to the fact that he was maneuvering her through a certain door and into a certain chamber. She became even less aware of her surroundings when she was laid on a certain berth and the mech began to attack her neck, nipping at the wires with practiced ease and teasing other hot spots that she would have thought were far too obsolete for anyone to correctly guess. Primus... he just seemed to get everything right. It was almost like he could see right into her processor.

Her vision began to become hazier, her audio receptors slowly began to mute. She could only just make out Strika snickering in the background, blatantly amused with the situation. Not that she cared by that point. Why should she? Why not pay more attention to Soundwave...?

Soundwave's weight suddenly lifted off her, but she was only vaguely aware of it in her dazed state. The tentacles were still engaged, so he had to be close by, and everything felt so inexplicably _good _why should she even worry about his whereabouts anyway? Why had she ever worried about anything? Life was... life was _good _and Soundwave was _hot. _Not that she could see him properly by that point in time, he was really nothing but a silver smudge lingering over her befuddled form. She really couldn't hear too well, either...

_"Pleasure doing business with you,_" someone purred in the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

**The rating will be moved up to "M". Eventually. Just thought I'd warn ya.**

**For those who have read this story before and are thinking, "Hey, why does everything seem different?" that's because I've rewritten parts of it to fit with the actual plot. There's lots of secret hints in the next chapters for things to come, bwahaha. Ahahaha. Ahem. Enjoy. :3**

**Pairings:**

**Megatron/OC, Starscream/OC, Soundwave/OC and Shockwave/OC.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers. I'd ruin the entire thing if I did, because the 'Cons would always win.**

* * *

><p>Sweet Primus, when had the Hell Cells become so bright?<p>

Synch's optics were reluctant to shutter open, raising a heavy hand in an attempt to shield them from the blinding light that tortured her sensitive imagery sensors. This wasn't the Holding Cells. It couldn't be. The best lighting they'd ever received was a couple of faulty bulbs that worked when they felt like it (which was hardly ever), and even then they'd made a scarce difference in the otherwise drab setting. They'd never had the luxury of berths, either, which she figured was what she was lying on. It'd been a very long time since she'd experienced the support of an actual berth, come to think of it... Not since she'd been ripped from her hideout, dragged onboard a Decepticon vessel and shoved into this hellhole.

There were few places around these parts that actually possessed berths (which logically should've helped her determine her location), one of them being the Med. Bay and another in Strika's... er... "extra happy-fun-time" room. Experience told her she definitely wasn't in the latter, so what had gone down that landed her in need of medical attention? Had one of the guards injured her so extensively that they'd had to temporarily move her there? That was almost unheard of. Guards were far from gentle, it was true, but they knew where to draw the line. The only times she'd ever been shipped off the Med. Bay had been because... because of... Strika?

_Right._ How could she have forgotten? She'd been removed from the cells and delivered straight into the clutches of Soundwave, all thanks to that insufferable, avain-shaped Deceptiscum. As much as she wanted to denounce that little rat as a traitor, deep down she knew that- ultimately- it had been her fault for being so gullible. _She_ was the one who had willingly engaged him. _She_ was the one who'd ignored her gut feelings in favour of some cheap entertainment. _She_ was the one who had wished that their exchanges wouldn't end, who had dreaded the day that he would disappear out that door and never come back.

She'd just never imagined that she'd be walking out that door with him.

Out that door and promptly into Strika's arms, if she recalled correctly. Though she was struggling to get a clear idea of what exactly had gone down in that dreaded office. Anything beyond those three data pads... something about a profile and customary forms... it was a bit hazy, to say the least. Maybe Soundwave had let Strika have some parting fun with Synch after all.

_How generous of him, _she sarcastically growled to herself.

Nonetheless, her assumptions didn't quite stack up to reality. If that were to be true- and Strika really had sunk her claws into her- why wasn't she hurting in a million different places? Asides from her pounding processor, of course, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what would've brought that on either. It was unusual to walk away from an encounter with the bat-crazy femme unscathed and unharmed... _more_ than unusual, in fact. Perhaps it was possible that she'd been completely repaired before regaining consciousness, but a brief glance over the room revealed that was improbable at best; she wasn't even in a Med. Bay. There wasn't a medical tool in sight, and by the looks of things she was the sole occupant of the room. A Med. Bay generally consisted of at least a handful of berths.

So where in the Pit was she?

With a protesting creak from her joints Synch forced herself into a sitting position, wanting to get a better idea of her surroundings. There wasn't a lot to take heed of. The area was definitely spacious, occupied only by her berth and couple of desks that were stacked with data pads. She made a mental note of those; they might provide some indication of her whereabouts, or at least some form of entertainment to pass the time. The visual quest for clues continued, eventually turning to inspect the area behind her, only to freeze in her tracks.

She was being watched.

It was a femme, much to her surprise. She was a lot taller than Synch, possessing the kind of elegant form that suggested she'd descended from some important bloodline of nobility... probably the daughter of some wealthy Senator. They were always easy to spot; the way they carried themselves with an air of poise and superiority made them stand out in a crowd of the "common people." Like everyone else of her status, Synch would bet that the femme had survived the first half of the war simply due to the legions of guards who had pledged their lives to the protection of her wealthy family; though her former status would have proven inconsequential as the war escalated. The time eventually came where everyone had to learn to fight or die, and Synch wouldn't pretend to be saddened when many of the nobles unwittingly chose death.

The taller femme certainly wasn't acting very "noble," however. She was lounging against the wall, long legs keeping her propped up against the surface and arms comfortably folded across her chestplate. Her optics were regarding Synch with a look that could only be described as amused, her lips pinched slightly as if she were fighting hard to suppress a grin. What, exactly, she found to be so entertaining was beyond Synch.

Somewhat sick of being the source of everyone's mirth, Synch scowled back at her.

"Who are you?" she demanded none-too-politely, optics narrowing into a partial glare.

Synch's hostility only seemed to fuel the strange femme's merriment, blue optics glinting and a half-smile spreading across her faceplate. It would seem that Synch was in need of working on her scowls and glares. They clearly weren't doing their job right if people were laughing at her more than they were quaking in fear. Though, one could hardly expect an Autobot slave to be the most intimidating force in the universe. Especially not to a Decepticon...

The prospect of being in the presence of an enemy caused Synch to regard the femme with newfound caution, carefully analysing every detail as she searched for some sign as to the stranger's faction. Her less feminine and more regal appearance placed her origins at Altihex- one of the first city-states to fall, which was likely to mean she either harboured vengeful feelings towards the 'Cons or had struck a deal with them early on. Surely she was not a fellow Autobot. The colour of one's optics was no certain giveaway of what side an individual had chosen to align with, anyone with a half a processor knew that. There were plenty of Decepticons- and former Autobots- who had possessed mistakenly pigmented optics.

Not to mention she was acting far too... _comfortable _for someone who'd been forced to submit to the sadistic whims of a Decepticon.

"Name's Freeze," she finally answered, that annoying half-smile not leaving her faceplate. "You?"

"Synch."

The reply automatically rolled off her glossa as she continued to size up this "Freeze" creature, trying to deduce how much of a potential threat she might be. She may have been nobility, but she'd survived thus far for a reason. To prevent the former Altihexian from getting any funny ideas about harming her, Synch was quick to add on;

"Soundwave's slave."

"Yeah, I know," Freeze snorted, brushing off the extra information, "I kinda had to watch over you while he was gone."

_Gone? _Gone where? He couldn't have ditched Synch already.

Part of her was tempted to inquire about his whereabouts, but she was unsure as to how far she'd be able to push the potential 'Con in terms of questions... Well, on second thoughts, there was nothing "potential" about it. This "Freeze" was definitely one of her (previous?) enemies. No Autobot slave would act that relaxed in such a hostile setting. Sure, some slaves might be treated better than others, but being well looked after didn't make you _that_ relaxed and it sure as Pit didn't change the bleak situation.

Their life was over. Plain and simple. Regardless of who your "master" (she internally shuddered at the word) was, your life was over and your freedom had disappeared with it. There was no way an Autobot could be so easyoing, so _unaffected _by their pointless existence and dead-end future. Depressed? Yes. Numb to the world? Absolutely. Relaxing against a wall and trying to contain their laughter? Not so much.

Perhaps, Synch pondered to herself, it'd be a more tolerable lifestyle if they had even the smallest ray of hope in terms of escape. But with Prime dead, the Autobots drastically dwindling in numbers, and knowing that any of her allies would be shot the moment they touched down on the planet's surface... only an idealistic fool would entertain thoughts of rescue. And Freeze did not strike her as an idealist, nor did she come across as foolish.

"Where'd he go?" Synch eventually questioned, deciding there couldn't be _too _much harm in asking.

She was good at second-guessing herself like that.

Freeze gave an indifferent shrug, looking utterly disinterested with the conversation already. She pushed herself up from the floor and wandered over to the closest desk, rifling through its contents before a random data pad took her fancy. With a spring in her step she perched herself on the edge of the table, studying the data pad with a type of bored curiosity, and surprising Synch when she actually decided to speak again.

"Called away by Megsy I s'pose. They don't really bother telling us these things."

Woah, woah, _woah. _Us? Did that mean...?

"You're a slave too?"

If Synch had tried to mask the surprise in her voice, she did a very poor job of it. The shock on her faceplate made Freeze let out an unexpected bark of laughter, glancing up at Synch with amused optics. With a flick of her wrist she'd cast the data pad aside again, a sardonic grin settling on her features as she leaned back on the palms of her hands.

"Is it that obvious?" she teased.

_Not at all, _Synch frowned, though decided it was best not to answer that question.

Why wasn't she depressed and mopey? What was up with that sunny disposition? Where were her hatchlings? A million questions tumbled into Synch's processor, but she didn't consider any of them to be appropriate queries- for a complete stranger- regardless of the unusual circumstances they found themselves in. Besides, she couldn't just trust this girl right off the bat. It wouldn't be the first time that a femme had fooled her into thinking that they were someone they're not. And look what happened last time she'd thought there was no harm in trusting someone...

No, she'd bite her glossa for now, and find some way to convince herself that she didn't _really _need those answers... no matter how curious she was. It wouldn't be wise to put her faith into the first slave she came across. Just like it hadn't been wise to trust a lone femme wandering around on a deserted planet, or a certain Decepticon who had decided to make frequent visits to the Cells. Besides, she'd only recently escaped from those cursed Holding Cells, and hadn't a clue as to how to function in this new Cyberton. She didn't know how this society worked. She didn't know the unspoken rules. For all she knew, Decepticons were utilizing a "divide and conquer" technique, turning Autobot femmes on one another and encouraging them to dob each other in. This "Freeze" individual could be waiting for her to slip up, to say something compromising to report back to the powers-that-be...

Was she being too paranoid? Maybe. But she'd paid dearly in the past for not being paranoid enough.

"Who do you belong to?" Synch asked, choosing the most innocent and least jeopardizing topic she could.

"Shockwave."

Ugh, really? To think that Synch had considered Soundwave to be an unfortunate outcome. The mere thought of serving that drone, in all of his infamously cold and ruthless glory, made her openly cringe. She couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like trying to please him... she could barely even imagine a femme like Freeze being able to _tolerate_ him, and vice versa. Despite being spared the misfortune of meeting the one-opticked mech on the battlefield, Synch didn't feel she needed to have any personal experience with him to know that he and Freeze just seemed too different. A stoic, analytical tool with a laid back troublemaker? She could only wonder as to what kind of conflicts went down in their household.

Then again, she was hardly the spitting image of Soundwave. She didn't have the clearest idea of his temperament (asides from the fact that he seemed to enjoy her misery and he wasn't to be trifled with in combat), but who knew what sort of personality clashes would emerge between them in the time to come? Her processor was still struggling to comprehend why he'd decided to choose her in the first place.

Freeze had obviously caught the look of disgust on her face, but it seemed to heighten her amusement rather than offend her. At least someone found her predicament funny, because Synch could only bring herself to pity the other femme.

"It's not so bad once you get past all the, uh... activities."

"Interfacing," Synch clarified, her voice deadpan.

There really was no reason to beat around the bush. Anyone who thought they were here to dust a few tables and rearrange a couple of data pad collections were either sorely misinformed or hopelessly delusional. Decepticons wouldn't waste previous resources on rounding up scattered Autobots just because they didn't want to do their own cleaning.

"I was trying to put it nicely for you," Freeze admitted softly, a weak smile touching her lips.

It wasn't like any of her previous expressions; this smile had an edge of sympathy to it, a muted sadness in regards to their shared predicament. There was no trace of teasing or amusement, just a compassionate soul who understood the unfortunate position they had both found themselves in. It was the first genuine indication Synch had received that confirmed that yes, Freeze had definitely been an Autobot at some point of her life. Her sincerity was too subtle, yet strikingly authentic, to be forced or feigned. If there was one essential trait that all Decepticons lacked, it was the ability to genuinely commiserate with those they deemed beneath them... if anyone at all.

A part of Synch doubted that she was the first new arrival to cross paths with Freeze, too. What was the bet that many of them had been in stubborn denial about their purpose, that the former noble had learnt to tread carefully around the topic in order to protect those who had yet to come to terms with their inevitable fate. Synch considered herself lucky that her time in the Hell Cells, though far from being pleasant, had at least given her time to accept the inescapable outcome. What a shock she would have received if she had convinced herself Soundwave only wanted her for tea parties.

The moment dissipated in a matter of seconds before Freeze had switched to her normal cheerful self and randomly selected another data pad. Once again, it was beyond Synch as to how she could stay so laid back. Was there a possibility she'd gone insane? Had she been in servitude for so long that something in her processor had finally... snapped? Or perhaps she'd been with Shockwave for such an extended period of time that it didn't bother her anymore. Synch took the opportunity to vow she didn't want to ever become like that: she never wanted to be used to this. She never wanted to fully accept it. Somewhere, somehow, she wanted to remember what a free life had felt like and cling on to the desperate hope that she could someday return to it. To be so... _accepting_ of her position as Freeze was?

Not something she wanted to happened. Not something she would ever _let _happen. If Soundwave thought she was just going to roll over and act like good little puppy, he had another slagging thing coming.

If Freeze truly had been with Shockwave for aeons, then that begged another interesting question. Given that she had been in his service for a while, and given that she _was_ a slave like she claimed to be, perhaps... something... had happened by this point in time? Something that Synch was personally dreading, her fuel tanks clenching with nausea at the mere thought of it. It seemed beyond wrong- beyond _disgusting-_ to be forced to bear heirs for mechs they all personally detested. How could they expect the femmes to care for something that was the walking, talking mini-me of their captor and rapist? They were taking cruel and unusual punishment to a whole new level.

As drastic as it sounded- if it were to happen- Synch doubted she would be able to refrain from throwing herself out the window the first opportunity she got.

"...No sparklings yet?" she dared to ask, finally presenting one of her earlier questions.

Much to her surprise, Freeze burst into a fit of laughter. It wasn't as short-lived as the last time, which had barely lasted over an astrosecond. On this occasion she seemed to be stuck in the throes hilarity for joors, one hand clutching at her abdomen as if to try quell her giggles and the other being raised to politely cover her mouth (a habit she'd picked up as a noble, Synch had no doubt). Coolant threatened to spill from the corners of her optics the longer it dragged out, leaving Synch to awkwardly watch- oblivious as to what was so humorous about the question- before Freeze had finally calmed down enough to choke out an answer between her dying snickers.

"Do I look like a femme run down with the little ones?"

Synch arched an optic ridge at that, having not suspected such a contemptuous response.

"You make it sound like a disease."

Freeze shrugged, something that seemed to be a bad habit of hers, and absent-mindedly wiped the coolant from the corners of her optics. Either she wasn't any more fond of the idea than Synch was, or the topic truly disinterested her. Though how could it disinterest anyone? It was a real threat, an issue that femmes across the entire planet were learning to cope with. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. Being indifferent didn't stop it from happening to you.

"I think," Freeze began, whilst rustling through the data pad collection _again,_ "you'll find a lot of the higher ranks aren't after the hatchlings as much as they are the _entertainment."_

_Interfacing, _Synch thought, deciding to keep the clarification to herself this time.

Personally, she couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or relieved with this revelation. The idea of being more of a pleasure toy and less of a means to reproduce hadn't crossed her processor during her time in the cells. What would make her feel cheaper and dirtier; being used as a private whore or being used as a mother? Either way, the outcome was always the same. She would still wind up underneath Soundwave at the end of the day... in every sense of the word. And just because Shockwave wasn't interested in offspring didn't mean that Soundwave would be harbouring similar feelings.

But... why was she so concerned about conceiving, anyway? She was hardly at risk. So long as the pair weren't bonded to anyone, the chances of successfully reproducing were next to non-existent. Unless they'd found a way to override a femme's basic coding, making their systems believe they'd merged their spark with someone when in reality-

Oh no.

Oh _no._

The programming.

What if the Decepticons _had_ found a way to overwrite their basic coding? What if they had found a way to skip the bonding step entirely?

It made a lot of sense, now that she was thinking about it. What sort of self-respecting Decepticon would honestly want to merge themselves with an Autobot- and an Autobot _slave, _at that? Not only would it be insulting to 'Cons otherwise, but it presented a serious risk of sharing confidential information with bots who really shouldn't be in-the-know. _Especially _when it came to those in the higher rankings. She couldn't imagine the likes of Soundwave- or even Megatron for that matter- being even remotely tempted to bond with an Autobot in the name of their species' survival. It was so much easier to install some form of programming to trick the femme's systems.

"They... they were talking about some kind of programming..." Synch trailed off, looking up at Freeze expectantly as she waited for an explanation.

The femme grinned, which was at least a reassuring sign that she knew something of it (and was better than her collapsing into a laughing fit... again). Perhaps Freeze would be able to give her some idea of what it was and what it did... which hopefully didn't turn out to be too horrible. If Synch wasn't so busy torturing herself with all the possibilities of what the programming could and could not do, she might have second-guessed asking, simply out of fear that she might not like the answer. Except she wasn't the sort of Transformer who could just put up with not knowing something. She _needed _to. Or she'd spent countless nights depriving herself of recharge, trying to figure out exactly what those slagheads had done to her.

"Yeah, the pacification programming," Freeze said, looking somewhat amused at the direction their conversation had gone. "Well... it goes by all sorts of names. But it's a bitch when you're trying to resist... for some more than others."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The concern in the new slave's tone caused Freeze's grin to shimmer down into more of a half-smile, although the amusement remained. It wasn't smug amusement, either, as if she were pleased with herself for knowing something Synch did not. It was more like the amusement one would express towards an innocent sparkling; pitying, yet their ignorance was nonetheless entertaining. Synch didn't like it. She was no hatchling. Excuse her for not reading the "Programming For Dummies" manual before she'd had it _forcibly _installed in her systems.

Freeze opened her mouth to answer, but quickly shut it again, as if reconsidering. Finally, her grin returned, and she said,

"Heh. You'll find out, I have no doubt."

Well that helped a slagload, didn't it?

Synch scowled, wondering what she'd done to deserve being stuck in a room with that one femme who didn't know how to give straight answers. It was obvious how unhelpful Freeze was destined to be- that mischievous glint her optics held said it all. Fragging nobles... the political figureheads of the Golden Age... of course all Freeze would know how to do was play games. It was how she'd been raised. Normally one would have to "grease their palm" if they expected anything out of _her_ kind. Paying off Senators was hardly an uncommon practice back in the Golden Age.

But what did she expect Synch to do, bribe her? She didn't exactly have a lot to offer her at the moment. Unless she wanted a snickering annoyance and his traitorous bird. Synch would happily hand those over...

She opened her mouth to bluntly inform Freeze of just how unhelpful she was being, when the doors took that as their cue to slide open. The sound of heavy footsteps and claws clicking against the metal floor filled the room, drawing the attention of both femmes and bringing an effective end to any further attempts at conversation.

A sleek, metallic, cat-like creature stepped through the entrance first. It possessed a single optic in the middle of its feline-shaped head- much like the mech that entered behind it- with a mace-like tail and razor-edged claws. Multiple sharp, bladed edges adorned his body, lining his spine and tail, varying in size depending on their placement. Put quite simply; he hardly looked like the type of cat you wanted to pet... not unless you wanted to come away with a few holes in your hand. His tail angrily lashed through the air, shoulders hunched and stance predatory, as if he needed to add to the intimidation factor.

It took a few moments of intense contemplation, but Synch eventually drudged his name up from her databanks; Ravage. Another one of Soundwave's minions.

The second mech that followed was most definitely, without-a-doubt, the infamous Shockwave. If the one optic didn't serve as a dead giveaway, his towering figure and lack of facial expression left no room for doubt. It was the first time Synch had ever seen the scientist up-close-and-personal, and she was already whole-sparkedly regretting the experience. Half of her processor was waiting for him to blow her to pieces, whilst the other half was wondering why she hadn't cleared the room yet. It was... uncomfortable, being so close to him, yet knowing he posed no immediate threat. She couldn't fathom how Freeze managed to tolerate his company... how _any _of the Autobots on Cybertron tolerated _any _of these mechs' company.

It'd never stop feeling weird to be surrounded by Decepticons who _weren't _trying to deactivate you.

"Freeze," spoke the mouthless mech, somehow managing to make the name sound like both an order and a warning.

Without a word, said femme quickly jumped down from her perch, returning to his side at a leisurely pace. Her grin had definitely lessened, but Synch was surprised to find that it had yet to completely disappear. Shockwave didn't seem to pay much heed to his so-called slave's "good mood," fixing his single optic onto the other femme in the room. Internally, Synch cursed herself for flinching from his impassive stare.

"You will await here for Soundwave's return."

The tone was similar to the one he had used on Freeze, leaving little room for argument. Rather than trouble herself with a reply, Synch opted for unresponsiveness, avoiding Shockwave's gaze to glare at the far wall. And why should she acknowledge him? She wasn't some mindless drone for him to boss around. He certainly wasn't her "Master," either, as they'd so lovingly titled themselves. As far as she was concerned, Soundwave hadn't paid for her just so his one-opticked "friend" (did Decepticons even have friends? Did they know the meaning of the word?) could order her around. He had no claims to her. She didn't have to listen to him.

Her blatant refusal to respond led to a few moments of tense silence, eventually broken by Shockwave when it became apparent she wasn't going to speak.

"Failure to acknowledge your superiors is punishable."

There was no covering up the contemptuous snort that escaped her vocaliser, making a show of rolling her optics at Shockwave, if only to rub in _just _how much respect she had for those self-proclaimed "superior." She would _never_ consider these cowards to be above her. Not after everything they'd done. Shockwave himself had played a role in the demise of the Earth-bound Autobots; he'd had a hand in the nightmare femmes- like Synch and Freeze- now found themselves in. Granted, he hadn't been the only Decepticon at fault for their predicament, but it felt good to finally be able to direct her fury towards someone tangible: to have someone she could specifically blame.

_And Soundwave was there as well,_ she reminded herself.

Her _beloved _Soundwave had been on Earth at the time, too. Pit, there was a possibility that Soundwave knew the identity of her brother's killer. It seemed like an eternity ago that Synch had sworn to get revenge. Even though she'd had to put that oath on hold thanks to the ensuing madness that had followed, and even though she'd been delayed by her captivity, she still had every intention of carrying out her promise. Somehow...

Of course, there was the simple issue of having to actually find out _who_ killed him, but she had a feeling she already knew. She'd bet an entire supply of Energon that it'd been that dim-witted brute, Barricade. The pair never had liked each other.

Shockwave's optic narrowed, taking a menacing step towards the berth. He probably would have continued the advance if Freeze hadn't nimbly slid into his path, much to Synch's surprise, boldly reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and place a few submissive kisses across his jawline. Synch raised an optic ridge at the display, caught between feeling disturbed and disgusted by how easily the motion came to her, or relieved and thankful that Freeze had made an effort to shield her from his possible wrath. He definitely didn't look the least bit impressed- in fact Synch got the impression he knew exactly what his femme was up to- but he didn't press onwards, either.

"Can we just go home now, Master Shockwave?" the Altihexian pleaded with him, nuzzling his chestplate for extra emphasis.

Right. Synch didn't want to think _too _much about what the implications of "going home" meant.

"Insubordination is not tolerated."

"Oh, I know," she sighed miserably, as if genuinely upset that Synch's actions were hindering them, "but she's new and ignorant,_ Master._ Would it be better for her first lesson to come from Soundwave?"

Synch almost hadn't believed the stunt would pay off. Almost. Even though Shockwave's faceplate was hard to read, his body language was hesitant as he considered Freeze's words, and she certainly wasn't letting up on her act. He gave Synch a final once-over before he turned away, wordlessly disengaging Freeze and marching out the door. A triumphant grin spread over the diabolical femme's faceplate whilst his back was turned, glancing over her shoulder to give Synch a reassuring wink before following after him. The feline- who Synch had actually managed to forget about- gave a displeased growl, but made no aggressive move towards Shockwave's pet. Synch had a feeling they were more than familiar with Freeze's mischievous tactics.

The doors locked behind the departing pair and the room fell eerily silent. Ravage was keeping his optic trained on Synch, an immobile statue that showed no desire to move anytime soon. He wouldn't let the Autobot maneuver herself very far, either; attempts to get up were constantly thwarted by his warning growl, lip components drawing back to reveal a set of particularly vicious-looking denta. She'd tried to ignore it on one occasion, but that growl had turned into a threatening snarl, and she'd thought better of pushing the boundaries. Eventually she decided it would be safer to settle and suffer through her boredom, as opposed to risking the loss of a limb to her ever-vigilant guardian.

With a frustrated sigh she threw herself back down on the berth.

It was going to be a long wait for Soundwave.

* * *

><p><em>Whoever said that Hell was a place on Earth had never experienced a Decepticon-ruled Cybertron.<em>

_The femme's joints screamed in protest at the uncomfortable pose she'd been bound in. Her wrists had been stretched to impossible heights above her helm and her pedes barely brushed against the grimy floor, giving her zero chance of alleviating the stress on her upper body. There was no sign of life beyond her dimly-lit prison; no thud of pedefalls or echo of conversation. No indication of anyone approaching to relieve her of the straining position. Small rivers of Energon were trickling from the multiple cracks in her armour- superficial wounds that gave her only minor discomfort- carving through the dips and rivets of her form and congregating in a trivial puddle at her pedes. A particularly compromising wound she'd acquired had (for reasons unknown to her) been patched up some orbital cycles ago, ensuring she hadn't bled to a merciful deactivation during anyone's absence._

_Regardless, she remained aching and weakened, and with no suggestion of an end to her predicament her mental strength was being steadily sapped. There were days where she struggled to remember_ why_ she had to hold on- or what she was even holding on_ for-_ only knowing that it was essential that her will didn't fail. Whatever was to come, for whatever reason she was here, she couldn't give in. Her body had been largely spared thus far, but her processor was beginning to feel the strain._

_Though sparing her physical self wasn't necessarily a compassionate gesture. Truthfully, she'd rather he hurried up and laid into her. A few missing limbs, a couple of gaping hauls, mauled wiring: she could handle it. Primus knew she'd experienced it all before, and then some, during her time spent on the battlefield. It was the waiting, the anticipating, that was really driving her mad. His prolonging of the inevitable was making her come undone, picking apart the fragile seams of her already-wavering sanity. The longer he left it, the worse it would be. An outburst of violent fury was far more preferable than the calculated assault he was undoubtedly plotting. Pit, this endless **waiting **could be part of the ordeal, for all she knew. It was more torturous than any weapon he could use against her._

_He knew that, though, didn't he? Power lay inside the mind. That was where so-called reality was received and interpreted. When you could twist someone's processor beyond recognition, rearrange their thoughts into patterns of your own choosing, tear their inner self to shreds and then put it back together again as you pleased... that was how you truly broke someone down. That's where the real torture took place._

_The femme- Shadowfang, she reminded herself, was her designation- bit back a groan as the doors slid open with a foreboding hiss, followed by the ominous approach of **his **pedefalls. For the briefest of astroseconds the room was bathed in light, silhouetting the towering form of her jailer and illuminating her broken figure. She switched off her optics to shield them from the temporary glare, waiting until she heard the doors lock before she dared to online them again. The darkness was thick, penetrated exclusively by the pair of glittering red orbs that were steadily floating towards her, heralding the mech's advance with every echoing **thud **that bounced around the confined space. _

_She forced herself to met his gaze, adamant that she would not gift him with any hint of how intimidated she was- how vulnerable she felt. His faceplate stopped a few centimeters short of her own, the lustre of her own dimmed optics unveiling more of his features from the heavy shadows. They remained in that position for some time, optics locked in a silent battle of wills. _

_Vents stalled and stuttered back to life as sharpened claws brushed over the metal flesh of her abdomen, stroking her side with mocking tenderness. If it had been anyone else caressing her, she would have considered the action agonizingly erotic. With this basterd, however, she quite plainly felt threatened. The crimes he had committed with those hands... the things he had done... the things he had _forced _her to witness... She shuddered, unintentionally breaking the optic-contact for the briefest of sparkbeats. It was all she could do to stop herself from imagining the copious amounts of Energon that stained his hands- Energon that belonged to femmes, mechs and sparklings alike- rubbing off onto her own metal, tainting her just as it tainted him. It was a sickening image._

_Not too long ago, she would have vehemently resisted that touch. She would have struggled, lashed out, cursed his name to the deepest layers of the Pit. Nowadays? She knew better. It hadn't taken long for her to learn to remain immobile, to conserve her scarce energy. It was becoming far too precious to waste on such fruitless attempts._

_"What do you want?"_

_The words were barely above a whisper and edged with faint despair, almost as if they had slipped out of her vocaliser by accident. She suppressed the urge to cringe at how embarrassingly feeble she sounded, given her earlier resolve to mask her inner turmoil. Instead of falling into a shameful silence, however, she stubbornly steeled herself and forced her glossa to press on. Very rarely did she speak to the mech, unless it was an absolute necessity. The fact that she'd spoken at all had surprised even herself, but now that she'd begun she might as well finish it. 'Nobody liked a quitter,' as Lennox had often teased her.  
><em>

_Clenching her denta together, she looked him in the optics and continued in a harder tone,_

_"I don't have anything left to offer you."_

_It was the truth. Any ounce of information he'd be interested in- anything that could have been remotely useful to his cause- had died alongside her comrades in Chicago. He'd taken them. All of them. Autobots and humans alike, they were all gone, rendering whatever intel. she could volunteer as obsolete. She knew nothing of the Autobots who had scattered to the stars, asides from the fact that they were cowardly for not joining the struggle on Earth.  
><em>

_The mech in question chuckled, an animalistic sound that stemmed from deep within his chestplate and reverberated throughout the empty room. He seemed to fill every inch of the area, his presence thick and suffocating as she struggled to discern where the darkness began and his body ended. It was like he was everywhere yet nowhere, pressing down on her from all directions, dominating what should have been an impossibly large space to overcrowd. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand being so blatantly toyed with, so openly mocked, with no plausible way of defending herself. Nothing but sheer force of will. But with her chained limbs leaving her incapable of protecting herself physically, what happened when wits and mental fortitude failed her, too?_

_It was a question she didn't want to discover the answer to._

_Primus, what would it take to get him to end it before that happened? He'd taken everyone, _everyone, _from her in the shutter of an optic. Whether directly or indirectly, he'd had a hand in every single one of their deaths. She'd watched Ratchet's spark be snuffed by his Communications Officer, she'd seen the dismantled parts of Wheeljack floating down the channel, she'd been helpless as Mirage's decapitated head was used as a puppet... she'd witnessed **him** slaughter Optimus Prime. All of them. Gone. It'd left an empty void in her spark chamber, the loneliness chewing a hole straight through her chestplate. When was it her turn? When did her misery finally reach a conclusion?  
><em>

_She bit her glossa as he leaned in, thick armour brushing against her lighter plating and vented air ghosting over her audio receptor. His voice was a rich purr, much akin to a deadly cybercat enticing you to pet it, when you very well knew your hand would be chewed off the klik you tried. It was admittedly hard to focus on much in her current state, but that voice always managed to cut through the haze. He was powerful like that. Formidable. He commanded attention simply by walking into a room, and it made him unimaginably difficult to ignore._

_Especially when he was speaking directly into your audio receptor._

_"You have more to lose than you know."_

_A frown tugged at her features, sincere confusion plastered over her faceplate as she tried to process his sentence. _

_What could she possibly have left for him to take? There was no one online that she could confess to caring about. The war had taken everything from her. **He** had taken everything from her, including the most important Transformer to ever grace her miserable existence. All that remained was the ugly scars one acquired after a millennium of war, fond and not-so-fond memories, and an insignificant designation. Unless he intended to give her a complete makeover, wipe her data banks and convince her that her real name was "Pixie," there wasn't a lot else he could do. Apart from, you know, mercifully deactivate her. If he knew how to perform such feats of kindness.  
><em>

_Cerulean met scarlet as their gazes locked again, her spark giving an uncomfortable squeeze as his optics burned into hers, perceptively gauging her reaction. She could see him searching her expression, trying to get into her processor, trying to decipher what was going on behind her guarded exterior. Perhaps he had been bluffing. Perhaps he was trying to determine whether she had hidden something from him, something **Prime** had hidden from him. Well, tough luck if that was the case. She may have been Optimus' berth buddy, but their relationship had definitely suffered with all the military information he'd had to keep from her. She was no wiser to Prime's secrets than he was. Though, realistically, she should have seen this coming. Decepticons trying to drag a deceased mech's private affairs out of his former mate? It was the type of low and idiotic act** they **were renowned for._

_Of course, she didn't tell him that. There was a line between courageous and stupid._

_Something in her faceplate must have betrayed her contempt and doubt, however. Without a flicker of warning a hand had abruptly crushed itself into the thin metal of her right wing, a strangled cry of surprise ripping itself from her vocaliser as the flimsy appendage crumpled with the force. Hardly astonishing given its lightweight form, but painful for the femme nonetheless. _

_Incapacitated as she was, there was little she could do to resist the attack, to fight back, to protect her most treasured attachment. The best she could manage was to sink her denta into her bottom lip components, silently berating herself for the high-pitched note she'd let slip and intent on not letting it happen again. She should've suspected that (when he_ eventually_ decided to carry out his physical assault) he'd target the damned wings first. Anyone with half a processor- anyone who'd ever fought against fliers and those wretched Seekers- knew they were easy targets. She shouldn't have been taken by surprise, and she especially shouldn't have cried out. It was common sense.  
><em>

_Rather than ease up like he normally did, his claws sunk in for a better purchase and- with an obscene screech of metal- began to twist the appendage into an almost unrecognizable shape. A distressed burst of static tried to release itself from her vocaliser, but there was no way she was letting another noise escape her. Her denta had clasped so firmly onto her lip components that they'd split the metal flesh, filling her oral cavity with the sharp tang of her own Energon. Unfortunately, while her efforts stopped any unwanted sounds from escaping, it did nothing to ease her suffering.  
><em>

_Connectors and wires were pulling taught along her wing struts, holding out for as long as they could before giving in to the pressure and snapping completely. Sensor nodes were being rubbed together at unpleasant angles, crushed against one another and relentlessly firing pain signals through whatever wiring had managed to remain intact. ___Her field of vision was dominated by the sadistic smile adorning his faceplate as he slowly continued, unabashedly delighting in her struggle to keep herself together, taking his blessed time to make sure he did an appropriate job of mangling them. __

_"Megatron!" she finally cried out as the hurt became unbearable, a desperate plea for mercy from the bloodlustful mech._

_A satisfied growl was her only answer, but if she'd held any delusions that he might be capable of compassion- or had any knowledge of the word existing- she was quickly corrected when his other hand seized her spared wing, repeating much of the same treatment. This time a half-scream did manage to wrestle its way out of her vocaliser, and she hotly cursed herself for it. It was evident in the fire of his optics, in the clench of his claws, that her pain was nothing but fuel to the flames, egging him on. She was supposed to be strong, slag it. Why must her body insist on throwing her to the cyberwolves at all the worst times?  
><em>

**_"Lord_**_ Megatron," he corrected her, anger seeping into his tone and translating in the sharp pull of his hands._

Never! _some defiant part of her hissed, a part that she absolutely agreed with._

_There could be nothing more humiliating, more traitorous to the Autobot cause. She would never admit to his superiority, would never acknowledge him as being higher than her, and would **never** suggest that she was somehow aligned with him. Somehow beneath him. Somehow subject to his control and willing to serve his desires. She would never call him Lord, sir, King, or whatever other foolish title he would claim for himself. There was only one rightful Lord in this universe, and the same fragger that stood before her had blown him into the Pit._

_Megatron, naturally, would have none of her stubborn refusal. His claws raked through the already abused systems of her wings, a fearsome snarl reminding her that she was defenseless against his whims and wants. Not that the "tame" (or, at least, "tame" by his standards) abuse would be enough to convince her into yielding, that much was obvious to even the most oblivious of bots. But centuries of war gave a mech some very **creative **ways of convincing even the most obstinate of individuals to start talking.  
><em>

_ Within the shutter of an optic he had shredded the thin armouring that protected her wing's most delicate circuitry, prying off the remains and carelessly casting them aside, exposing the intricate network of cables that ensured her ability of flight. Her vents hitched as he stroked the wires mockingly, a blatant threat of what he was about to do if she didn't adhere to his rules, didn't play his game. It was a twisted game at that, given that she knew nothing of the manual, and had no clues of what the ultimate goal was. Everybody knew that you couldn't win a game if you were constantly on the defensive... and even then hadn't the faintest idea of what you were defending against.  
><em>

_Be that as it may, Megatron was of a different persuasion as to the fairness of their contest- their little "battle of wills," if you must. Within that sick processor that stored his collection of deviant plots and depraved schemes, he could believe his "game" to be completely justifiable. After all, there didn't have to be a game, if she didn't participate in one. All she had to do was say a word. It was a simple word, really. It didn't possess any more significance than what she gave it; or at least it didn't _have_ to. Her pig-headed unwillingness to cooperate was what birthed their private competition into existence, and would only serve to make it that much more enjoyable when she did crack... And she **would **crack. He would be ascertain of it._

_But she couldn't do it. She couldn't say it. It was too damaging to her pride, too insulting to the emotional value she placed on her fallen allies. Megatron knew that as well as she did. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to all those who had gone before her, to all those who had died fighting this monster... to Optimus...  
><em>

_Any hope of honouring the memory of her comrades disappeared the instant that those talons slashed through her wing's internal systems._

_ She involuntarily convulsed against Megatron's solid form as the central links- parts of her that were never made to be exposed, let alone _touched-_ were torn to ribbons. Coolant forced its way out of her optics as she found herself stuck in the throes of a silent scream, though it would do little to hinder Megatron's vicious assault. His claws were incessantly cruel in their task, digging deeper into her circuitry to uncover the most hypersensitive components. Her right wing may as well have been doused in gasoline and set alight; the pain was immense, unlike anything she'd had the misfortune of experiencing before. It was newfound and frightening and for the most disorientating of moments she almost felt as if she had slipped away, her mind desperately grasping for a reprieve in the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness._

_As fate would have it, she was not to be so lucky. She could still register Megatron's titanic form hovering over her, the beast himself relishing in her blatant suffering. From his position he could see where she'd bitten through her own lip components, Energon staining the soft flesh and continuing to leak into her own oral cavity. It gave him a rush to know how hard she had fought, what lengths she had gone to, in a pitiful endeavor to defy him. Spurred on, he stabbed past the already-severed wires to savagely disconnect the last of them; leisurely pulling out a fistful whist she sobbed and unintentionally arched her body against him, as if that would somehow alleviate her agony. _

_He could personally assure her that it would do her no good. In fact, she was almost tempting him into unleashing a whole different level of hell. The sort that could leave mental wounds that ran far deeper than any physical afflictions he could administer. The sadist in him was already revved up by her anguished display, his armour growing hot to the touch and cooling fans kicking up a notch. They were imperceptible changes to a femme who was caught in the snares of her own misery, but Megatron found no shame in admitting his desires to himself. It was a testament to his self-control that he managed to hold back, reassuring his all-too-eager nether regions that, no, there would be countless of vorns for that... when the timing was right.  
><em>

_In a brief moment of relent the words tumbled out of her mouth, forcing their way out of her vocaliser before he had the opportunity to continue._

_"Lord! **Lord **Megatron!"_

_The hands stilled, the violent monster ceasing his brutal onslaught and switching to petting the abused sheet of metal, drawing a pained hiss from the mutilated flier. The change had been instantaneous; almost as if he'd known she'd been astroseconds away from giving in to his wishes. The thought was more than a little disturbing to her. Was she that easy to read? She'd told herself that she could take any physical pain he threw at her- Primus damnit she'd **known **he would go for the wings- but she'd never imagined the ordeal to be so... extreme. Battlefield skirmishes and one-on-one torture sessions turned out to be remarkably different affairs. She'd been foolish to liken the pair.  
><em>

_Copious amounts of Energon slicked the right side of her body, running down the length of her shoulder and backstruts in unwavering torrents. Despite a part of her wanting to glimpse the full extent of her disfigurement, to satisfy that needling-yet-morbid curiosity, a bigger part was incapable and unwilling to witness the mess he had made. She didn't need to see the damage to know she would be lucky if her right wing would ever function properly again. No, she needed to take every measure possible to protect her mental wellbeing, and given her despondent state... well, she didn't need a reminder of how helpless she really was. H___er helm remained turned in the opposite direction of the unpleasant sight, optics downcast in a mixture of shame and fear, as if ignoring the horror that awaited her somehow diminished the reality of what had occurred.  
><em>_

__It wouldn't be like her body to simply let that be the end of it, however. M_uch to her revulsion, tremors continued to wrack her tenuous figure, the intensity of the assault having an embarrassingly lasting effect. One would presume that the darkness would disguise the shaking from her assailant, would let her preserve some scraps of dignity, but common sense assured her that fate would never be so kind. The faint clattering of her metallic form against the wall was an instant giveaway; she was trembling, and anyone with functioning audio receptors would know it. _

_She just wanted him to stop. She just wanted everything to stop. The answer to a swift deactivation should have been simple; to piss him off so badly that he permanently silenced her in a fit of rage. But she'd left it for too long, she'd granted him too much time to plan every agonising detail of her demise. A very simple conspiracy to annoy him could end with a very simple solution- the removal of her vocaliser. It was a risk she wasn't willing to take.  
><em>

_An involuntary flinch shook her from her thoughts, a reaction brought on by his prying claws as they pricked at her other wing, threatening to begin the torment anew. Her processor scrambled to understand what it was that he wanted- what more she could possibly say to get the nightmare to stop- but nothing volunteered itself. _

_"P-Please..." she stuttered out, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was asking of him._

_To leave her alone and continue this another day? To release her from captivity without so much as a mark? To go against his very nature and show her mercy? Yeah. Right. Maybe when the Pit had frozen over. Megatron had kept her alive- was **keeping** her alive- for a purpose. She'd never gotten around to figuring out the details of that purpose, but she whole-sparkedly knew that one existed. Whatever it was, whatever he wanted, she wouldn't be going anywhere until her "duty" to the Decepticon cause had been fulfilled. _

_It wasn't like she could hedge her bets on a spontaneous rescue, either: her spineless "allies" had obviously fled to the furthest corners of the galaxy immediately after she'd broadcasted Prime's death, choosing to cower in fear instead of avenge those lost on Earth. She would have cursed them to the Pit and back, if she didn't feel so guilty about her own survival of Chicago. Could she blame her fellow Autobots, given the situation she now found herself in? Could she blame them for wisely recognising a lost cause instead of foolishly pursuing it?  
><em>

_She wasn't sure of her answer just yet.  
><em>

_"Look at me."_

_With an air of reluctance she complied, careful to keep her gaze on **him **and prevent it from straying to her throbbing wing. _

_Easier said than done, so it seemed. _

_Maintaining optic contact with the dictator proved to be a much more difficult assignment than it should have been. She found herself vehemently waging an inner war, the presumably simple task complicated by every one of her self-preservation codes that were **convinced **looking the beast in the optic would provoke more than it would soothe him. It took a considerable amount of concentration for her to keep her sights on his harrowing visage, resisting the over-powering urge to shy away from **that** pair of smouldering orbs and scrape together some measure of self-respect... An ambitious goal when her helm couldn't stop itself from twitching into any "safe" position and her optics kept flicking in any direction except his.  
><em>

_Fortunately- or perhaps unfortunately- her struggle was rectified fairly quickly by the beast himself; a hand roughly grabbed her chin, yanking her faceplate upwards and forcing her to sustain the stare. An unidentified, yet curiously wet substance smeared over her jawline with the action, though it took her a fairly considerable amount of time to register what it was.  
><em>

_There was little she could do to stop her lip curling in disgust as the sickening realisation dawned on her. The hand, the one that was clutching her helm in such an unyielding grip that it was threatening to dent the metal, was coated in the remains of her wing's essence. The "mysterious" matter wasn't such a mystery after all- it was her own Energon that had rubbed off of his hands and now stuck to her mandible. The very notion made her fuel tanks roil in revulsion, and she fought the desire to purge. _

_Fragging lovely. Just. Fragging. **Lovely. **How had she gotten herself into this mess? What kind of awful things had she done to deserve being there, smack-bang in the middle of Megatron's web? Maybe she had died back in Chicago after all. Maybe this was her own personal version of the Pit.  
><em>

Just play the game, _that tiny voice of inner wisdom reassured __her. _Play the game, learn the rules, and then we'll have a shot at winning... **escaping.**

_Escape... that sure sounded nice. Though it was because of her first attempt at fleeing the enemy that she had ended up here, right back in the center of ___the Decepticons' madness and _completely vulnerable to Megatron's whims and desires. It was a miracle that she'd survived the fallout on Earth, let alone continued to evade their forces for as long as she had. It was a miracle, too, that Megatron had opted for sparing her life... although she wished he'd just ended it back then. She would much rather have died amongst her friends on Earth than dragged back to be his plaything on Cyberton. _

_The thought made her recall one of her former squishy allies, a human soldier who she hadn't seen since he'd left the N.E.S.T. defense force... "Hardcore Eddie" his friends had nicknamed him. She distinctly remembered him discussing his distaste for his sparkmate's Earth cats whilst they'd been out on patrol, expressing his frustration over their sadistic tendency to prolong their prey's torment instead of bringing them to a swift and inevitable end. Little mice, defenseless and helpless, trapped in a cage of claws... for no purpose other than a predator's sick amusement. _

_Megatron's technique- she suspected- was not dissimilar._

_"I'm sure you can beg better than **that,**" he goaded her, faceplate remaining deadpan save for the fiendish gleam that passed through his optics._

_Beg?! Was the fragger glitching or something? The very idea was abhorrent, not to mention insulting. To refer to him as "Lord" was loathsome enough, to be chained up in his basement like some badly behaved pet humiliated her to her core, but to grovel at his pedes? __She gritted her denta together in frustration, growing steadily more furious with the warmonger who dared stand before her. It was purely, utterly, _inconceivably _demeaning and he knew it. That was obvious. **That** was the source of the diabolical glint in his optics. He was being one of those Earth cats with their mice, toying and tormenting to his spark's content... until the entertainment unavoidably wore off. _

_Regardless of her qualms, it was looking less and less like she had a genuine choice in the matter. The protective plating on her left wing was being experimentally picked at- a silent promise of what was about to transpire if she didn't comply- and she began to seriously consider swallowing her reservations about... err... "earnestly petitioning" for mercy. Were a couple of words **really **worth more than a wing?  
><em>

Play the game, _that inner voice encouraged her._

_...She had dignity, damnit!  
><em>

_"Please, my Lord!" she gasped, resisting the urge to spit out the words through her clenched denta, "I promise I'll behave. I'll do whatever you say, I'll do anything, just please..."_

_Until the opportunity for freedom came up, anyway. Then she'd do anything to get out of this hell._

_His optics narrowed with dark intentions, making her wonder if she should have held her glossa about the "do anything" part. His right hand finally released its vice-like grip on her jaw, returning to roughly stroke the underside of her mauled wing and draw a grimace onto her faceplates. There was nothing kind nor intimate about him touching her; he was simply being a douche. Not that it was remotely surprising. He was touching her because he could, irritating her wounds because there was nothing she could do about it. He was almost literally rubbing her vulnerability in her faceplate, emphasising how powerless she was, how pitifully trapped under his thumb she had become. She hated him for it all the more._

_"Please what, little one?" he purred, the nickname sounding mocking as opposed to endearing._

_As per usual, he'd avoided using her name. It was like he was allergic to it; she didn't think she'd heard him say it once since she'd wound up in her awkward situation, though surely he couldn't have forgotten it. They'd crossed paths too many times, both before and during the war... and now afterwards, too. There was always some undermining replacement- some belittling nickname to remind her just how beneath him she was. If she'd had the energy to be annoyed by it, she definitely would have snapped at him out of sheer vexation by now. It was a name, for Primus' sake. It wouldn't kill him to use it every once and a while.  
><em>

_Maybe that's what he wanted, to tip her past the breaking point. Get a rise out of her when she'd been so stubbornly tight-lipped and quiet throughout the entire ordeal. If that was the case, he was going about it the wrong way. She'd been deprived of Energon _before_ she'd been dragged to the makeshift prison, and her energy found itself in desperate need of conservation. Such trivial, energy-consuming matters seemed to be bothering her less and less as of late._

_That being so, instead of angering her, it merely filled her with a misplaced sense of disappointment. She hadn't heard her designation in so long, she was almost fearful that _she_ was the one at risk of forgetting it- more so than the likes of Megatron and his mindless minions. What she wouldn't give to hear it spoken aloud again, by lips other than her own. A seemingly harmless request it would be, and a seemingly simple request to carry out, but her world no longer consisted of anything outside of herself and her deranged visitor; a deranged visitor who had no interest in helping her preserve her identity or improving his hospitality. It was almost funny when she thought about it. Who knew that it was possible to miss your own designation?  
><em>

_"Pl-ease..." she choked out, hiccuping as his hand traversed over a particularly sensitive area of her ruined aileron, "...don't harm the wings... I don't want... please..."_

_Megatron merely gave a derisive chuckle in response, the sound filling up the entire room and rubbing salt into the wounds, as her human companions used to say. _

_How much more degrading could this get? He was openly mocking her, **scorning **her. Her! A once proud Autobot, a valiant protector of Earth who had devoted a good portion of her life to eradicating Decepticon filth; filth such as the likes of **him. **She had been reduced to literally **begging **the one **basterd** who had started all of this madness, the basterd who was at fault for the near extinction of their race and the desolation of multiple planets. She should never have been giving him the satisfaction! Optimus wouldn't have... none of the Autobots would. Even the_ humans _wouldn't.__ They would've refused to give Megatron the gratification of watching them succumb to his will, refused to let him ridicule them as they broke down, no matter the pain and humiliation they were forced to endure. Especially Optimus. He would be so disappointed in her...  
><em>

_Unfortunately, she was nowhere near possessing the same steely resolve as her former leader and lover. Not after she'd seen that same leader blown to pieces and decapitated before her optics. Megatron had claimed that she had a lot to lose, but she simply couldn't fathom what. Whether he was aware of it or not, the battle of Chicago had already taken whatever she'd had left. Everything she loved, cherished and cared for had been back on that lovable mudball called Earth. She'd had her freedom- for a time- but even that had been snatched away. _

_Though, to be perfectly honest with herself, lurking in the slums of Cybertron- taking every drastic measure to remain undetected and undiscovered- **hardly **qualified as freedom. A taste of what her new life would consist of, definitely. But "freedom" was stretching it a bit far.  
><em>

_A sigh vented through her cooling fans. Megatron _was_ trying to prove a point. She **did **have something to lose, beyond her life..._

_With renewed interest she solemnly studied his features, or what she could make of them in the lacking light. Everything from the cruel angles to the hate-filled optics to the faint scars that told of a time where his visage had consisted of only half his faceplate. It was odd to think that this was the mech who had once been revered in their society. His name chanted in the streets, hailed as a courageous hero across the whole of Cybertron, the great Lord High Protector who had been charged with the safeguarding of their planet... Back then, anyone would have been grateful to be locked up in a room alone with him. And yet, despite all the fame and the glory, despite the adoring fans and favourable position of power, somewhere along the way he became the reason for the mass destruction of their home. Somewhere along the way he had gotten greedy. Angry. Lost. From a Cybertronian hero to an intergalactic menace.  
><em>

_Truly, how the mighty had fallen. _

_Hatchlings had looked up to him, for Primus' sake! They had looked up to the murdering psychopath that had destroyed too many lives for an official number to be agreed upon. Mechs across the universe had longed to _be_ him and femmes had longed for him to be _in_ them, though he was notoriously difficult (and, according to reliable sources, frustrating) to seduce. He was a pillar of strength, an unstoppable warrior that people had turned to and relied upon in their most desperate times of need. The whole of Cybertron had thought themselves impenetrable and indestructible with Megatron and his great armada on their side. Nobody could have predicted the eventual demise of their planet, and even less would have guessed that the greatest threat would come from within. _

_Had there ever been a chance for the Autobots against such a formidable foe?_

_Aforementioned foe studied her silently in the darkness, lip components twisting into a wicked grin as he watched her drinking him in, absorbing every detail of her harasser. Her own features were shadowed with the heaviness of her thoughts, that telltale mixture of defeat and "what-if" suggesting the basic content of her inner musings. Was she losing faith in the light at the end of the tunnel already? He hoped not. Self-pitying depression was not part of his intentions for her.  
><em>

_"Hmm," he began contemplatively, as if seriously pondering her request._

_A fragile spark of hope stuttered to life within her chestplate, optics seeming to brighten for the most fleeting of moments. As if she believed he would actually leave her alone. As there was an opportunity that mercy was actually about to be presented as an added card on the table. Admittedly, _true _mercy would be ending her here and now; letting her join her fallen brothers and sisters in whatever afterlife awaited her. But she wasn't going to complain. She wasn't the one pulling the strings anymore. By this stage of her captivity she would take whatever she could get._

_He caught the naive flash of optimism the passed over her faceplate, reveling in it for the few precious astroseconds that it lasted. Funny how quickly prisoners latched on to smallest crumb of hope the klik it was offered to them. It didn't achieve much except increase his snickering amusement as he continued,_

_"It's not about what you want..."_

_-with a sudden jerk the plating from her next wing had been torn away, crushing any shade of optimism within the same nanoklik it had appeared-_

_"...It's about what you need."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Hittichowa: **_Thanks! I'm so glad to hear that. :D _  
><strong>Autobot Princess Arcee:<strong> _Haha, Shockwave fan, I'm guessing? ;) Excellent, 'cause I'm going to need some help with Shockwave. :P If you would like to, any tips on his character would be greatly appreciated. :) And thank you. :D_  
><strong>sieluvstf:<strong>_ I'm so thrilled. ^.^_  
><strong>XLR8ION:<strong> _Aw, yeah, I know. Sorry for being an Autobot-killer. ;) And yes... I want to introduce him soon, because I'm getting bored with Synch and Freeze. XD_ **  
>16 SilverMoon<strong> **16**: _Aww thanks! I'm so glad you like it. :D And yeah, that Kitty-Con is evil. . Haha, I'll try to get chapters up faster. :)_  
><strong>Szahara again: <strong>_I hate a good deal of my writing, so I suppose I can't really comment. ;) And thank you very much. :) You have no idea how much that all meant to me. And yes, I'm going to need a lot of inspiration and time, so thanks for that too. ;D_

**What was this? I'm not too sure. Just chucked in an unexpected OC. And, also, I apologise for the lateness. I've been caught up in life with no inspiration. At the moment, I'm just looking for a distraction from missing my boyfriend. If anyone has any suggestions, please share. Calling or texting is out of the question, by the way. He has no money on his cell phone to reply. And the calling bit is a long story.**

**Pairings:  
><strong>**Megatron/OC, Starscream/OC, Soundwave/OC and Shockwave/OC.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Transformers... sobsob.**

* * *

><p><em>Dear Stranger...<em>

_Daddy got angry with mama again today. I don't know why. He just dragged her away to another room, and I found her crying afterwards, with some strange blueish stuff coming out of holes in her armour. I asked daddy, and he said mummy had been bad again, and that it was her own fault. My mummy's always being bad. One time she yelled at daddy when some of his friends were over, and daddy left one of his friends with me so that he and the others could put her in the naughty corner. She was sore for a long time afterwards. That naughty corner must be very uncomfortable, because she couldn't walk properly for days afterwards. _

_Some of daddy's friends are weird, too. When daddy isn't around, some of them call me half-breed, and boss me around. They're not my creator! They can't tell me what to do. But they get really angry when I don't listen to them... once they gripped my arm too hard, and nearly snapped it in half. It hurt so much. I didn't tell daddy, because they said that they would hurt me even more. I'm scared of them. When he left me alone with one, they tried to remove a part of my armour between my legs. Dad walked in though, and got so angry. He nearly killed him... I'm so afraid sometimes, that if I don't do what daddy wants he'll do the same to me. I don't think mummy cares... mummy never cares... she always looks so sad._

_My mummy and daddy aren't like the couples I always read about. They never kiss, or hug, or cuddle each other, and I've never heard them say I love you. I don't think mummy loves daddy. I asked her once, and she said no. I don't think mummy loves me, either. She doesn't hug me or kiss me goodnight... she never reads me bedtime stories unless I ask her when daddy is around, and he makes her do it. She only turns off the light when she walks past. I told her I loved her once, but she didn't reply. Maybe she just didn't hear me... Mummy looks funny as well. Everybody I know has red optics, but mummy has blue ones like my twin brother did. _

_I don't know what happened to my twin brother. But I miss him. Some strange Transformers came into our house one day, and took him away. Mummy was so upset. I'm not sure what happened, because our bond went silent a little while after that. I like to think that he was taken to a better place to be with his kind. Daddy said he was taken away because he had blue optics, and that meant he was bad. I didn't think he was very bad. But daddy said he was so he must be. I've been told to keep away from Transformers with blue optics, unless told otherwise. They tried to destroy Cybertron once, and it was only because of Decepticons like daddy that we could win it back. I know that happened, because daddy told me so. But some blue optics are good, because they joined our side to help us. _

_I asked mummy why she has blue optics once, and if she helped the Decepticons beat the evil Autobots. I think she got angry with me. Daddy thought it was really funny, though, so I laughed as well._

_What's your name, anyway? I know you said you couldn't tell me, but I promise I'll keep it a secret! I'm good at keeping secrets. I've only told four of my friends about the time when daddy nearly killed that mech, when I told him I wouldn't tell anyone. And why do you have to keep it a secret? Are you not allowed to be talking with me? Did daddy tell you not to? I can't believe you know Megatron as well! Is he cool? My daddy talks about him allllll the time! I wish I could meet him. You're so lucky to be friends with him. Maybe I can come over and meet you some day._

_From Razorwing._

* * *

><p>Freeze had left Synch with a lot to think about.<p>

She'd probably left her with more questions than she'd originally started with. Things like "What was this pacification programming?" and, namely, "How the Pit did she stay so calm about the whole thing?" Synch would have to ask her next time. There was still the nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that Freeze might be a Decepticon spy, but she figured she'd deal to that when she came to it. She had Soundwave's protection, right? If Freeze was any kind of infiltrator, and she did just happen to be a Decepticon, her main purpose would probably just be watching out for any form of rebeliion. It didn't make any sense for her to be there for any other reason...

So why was she so afraid of another situation like Strika?

Not only that, but there were other things weighing heavily on her processor also. What had happened back in Strika's office? Synch couldn't remember anything beyond something about pacification programming. Had they already installed it? Were they about to? And something about a door kept popping up in her mind. It was like a hazy image that kept slipping out of her grasp everytime she grabbed a hold of it, yet at the same time was one of the most strongest points in her mind. If she tried too hard to get a hold of it, she was scared it would evaporate permanently. On the other hand, however, she feared that if she simply forgot about it, then she'd never figure out what truly happened. Asking Soundwave was out of the question. Somehow, that hurt her pride just a little too much.

Speaking of Soundwave, Synch wasn't entirely sure as to when he returned. Boredom had led her to falling back into recharge on the berth, and seeing as they'd removed her internal chronometer she'd had no idea how long she'd been out. However it was, apparently, long enough for the Decepticon feline to make himself comfortable with her and fall asleep also, which Synch hadn't been overly impressed about upon awakening to a lap full of evil kitty. Soundwave, who had been the cause of her return to conciousness, either hadn't cared about the cat's position or didn't find it unusual. Maybe she was the only one that noticed the black animalistic Transformer had been purring? She was at least pleased to note that Lazerbeak was not with him this time. There was only so much taunting from a creature 10 times smaller than herself that she could take.

Plus he was a little traitor. There was no forgetting that.

Now, walking down the arching hallways the were bustling with activity, showing off some of the most magnificent architectural acheivements in all of Cybertronian history, Synch almost wished Lazerbeak still was there with them. The formerly purring cat had gone back to his original stoic persona, and was stalking ahead with next to no acknowledgement of the Autobot slave. She was just thankful that Soundwave was there with them, or she would've been fearful of getting lost. He didn't seem concerned with the fact his other "pet" was weaving through crowds and constantly disappearing from sight.

Another thing Synch quickly learned was that the masters didn't have much to do with their slaves in public. She was getting a much different vibe from Soundwave out here than she was when they were back at the Hell Cells (not that, you know, he'd been awfully approachable back there anyway). It was becoming obvious that she was going to be treated little more than a drone out here, and probably would be given next to no acknowledgement unless he wanted something... or that's what she would hope would happen, anyway. Because what if he kept her trapped in his quarters all day, being expected to look after those little slagheads he called companions, and acting like some kind of housemate? She'd rather be treated like she wasn't there and get to stretch her legs, than hang around home (Eurgh, "home." That was a scary thought) all day waiting for the awful news that she was sparked. Besides, she almost kind of hoped she'd see some other slaves around this place... namely Freeze, since Synch was best acquainted with her (even if she did have her suspicions about the femme).

The trip was relatively uneventful, and despite her feeling mildly self-concious (especially since she didn't see any other slaves around), there turned out to be no real need for it. Decepticons ignored her just about as effectively as Soundwave did- save for the rare, curious, sidelong glances- and they arrived at his quarters without incident, much to her relief. She didn't know what she would've done if somebody had tried to jump her in the hallway, or challenged her for roaming in such a hallway that seemed unsuitable for the presence of a slave. Just being in that place, surrounded by a sea of Decepticons, had made her unbeleviably twitchy. Common sense told her not to turn her back on them, instinct told her that she was outnumbered and she should get the Pit out of there, but reason reminded her she had no choice in the matter now.

Soundwave tapped the code for his quarters into the door, not bothering to shield it from Synch. She leaned forward slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse, but an annoyed growl sounded from her right side. Glancing down, the cat-'Con was glaring up at her, not looking particularly thrilled at her attempt. Oh well. Maybe next time.

The doors slid open with a foreboding hiss, but instead of following Soundwave in like Synch had originally planned to do, he stepped aside with a snicker and motioned for her to go first. Her optics narrowed at him, suspicious, and willing to wonder whether or not she could be stubborn and refuse. But what was the point? The outcome was inevitable, and it was only a stupid room. Soundwave merely responded to the look with a vicious grin, which ended up prompting her to get her aft into gear anyway. Those kinds of looks just made her feel a bit too uneasy.

Apart from the eerie sense of doom upon entering the room, it wasn't all that bad. Synch absently wondered exactly how much Soundwave had paid someone to make the place look this good, minus what she considered to be the traditional Decepticon touches, which she thought kinda brought the place down a bit in her esteems. Best of all, large (and what she guessed were) one-way windows on the opposite side of the room looked directly over the courtyard down below, meaning that at least if she were stuck here all day she'd have some kind of view. If she were here under different circumstances, she might have thought it beautiful, but the fact that it seemed like nothing more than a taunting reminder to the life she could've had, should the war have gone differently... it almost seemed like Soundwave had put this all here deliberately to mock her. Which would be ridiculous, for even he didn't have that much power, but it still seemed cruel that she could be dumped in such a wonderful place under the most undesirable circumstances.

A hand was placed on her shoulder from behind, causing her to jump in surprise and whirl around to face her would-be attacker. Instead, she was met with the sight of a snickering Decepticon feline and a smugly amused Soundwave, which only seemed to annoy her even more. Mechs. The only thing worse than them were _Decepticon _mechs. Primus knew why he had decided to curse the female Transformers with such beings.

"It's late," he pointed out, giving her a dark and foreboding grin that didn't make Synch feel comfortable in her new "home" at all. A single digit picked into a seam in her shoulder, causing small pieces of dirt and grit that had accumulated there over stay in the Hell Cells to fall out. "Let's get you washed up."

* * *

><p>"Ugh..."<p>

That was all she could do. All she could manage to do after Shockwave had gotten through with her. Freeze almost regretted taking that little rookie under her wing, but the look of relief on her faceplate after she had saved her from her big, bad Master? Priceless. Plus she was a source of entertainment. Her own personality was pretty refreshing compared to the drab ones she tended to come across nowadays. Maybe Phoenix and Shadowfang could take a leaf out of her book... oh, and Firelight. That chick needed to loosen up a bit. Maybe stop taking out her unhappiness on everyone else. She was pretty sure Barricade had never put her through something even remotely similar as to what Freeze had just endured. Of course, that kid of hers had only succeeded in making things worse...

"Get up."

Joy. He had returned.

Cracking a single blue optic open, too exhausted to open the other, Freeze ran it over the mech that she had been forced to refer to as "Master" so many years ago. Not much had changed about him since then. In fact, should she be honest with herself, nothing had at all. He was that same old badass motherfragger who had, as he had just so recently proved, not even the slightest qualm about putting her aft back into line. Whilst she couldn't say she enjoyed it, it was good to know that her "Master" wasn't going soft on her. Freeze had not, and never would be, interested in some kind of "connection" with him. Stockholm syndrome? No way. Not for her. The last thing she wanted to do was sympathise for some Decepticon scum, although that wasn't to say she didn't try to enjoy herself along the way. It was a surprise that Shockwave hadn't kicked her out on the streets yet for all the stunts she had pulled.

Like the (admittedly mild) one about to commence at that moment.

Gracing her faceplate with the most seductive smirk she could whilst in her current state, she let out a soft purr, taking extra care to bat her optics once or twice at the mech. "Oh, Master. It's so late though. Can't we just-"

"No."

Her lips pulled into a pout at being interrupted so early on. She hadn't even got to the good stuff yet! And she would have continued as well, if she didn't receive such a dark and threatening look from the high-ranking 'Con the moment her mouth opened again. Quickly snapping it shut again, she scowled, venting deeply as she forced her aching body to sit up on the berth she was laying on. Every wire, cord and pieces of circuitry within her pretty much screamed their protests at her the moment she tried, but the femme did her best to pay them no heed... a difficult task when one's processor was already pounding from the anguish that had been inflicted upon her. Let none say that Shockwave was evenly remotely gentle if he didn't want to be. This would be fun repairing.

A withering look from mentioned mech told her that simply sitting up wasn't going to cut it for him, and the enslaved femme reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the berth, letting out an overdramatic sigh just to let him know how much on an inconvenience this was for her... and, admittedly, also to disguise the whine and grimace she almost let out from the pain that was shooting through her body at even the slightest movements. It would make no difference. He had given her an order, and she would be going through with it regardless of what it cost her. Shockwave was pig-headed like that.

Now came for the fun part. Actually standing up. Biting her glossa this time to make sure no noises came out, she hesitantly slid off the berth, dreading the moment her pedes would come into contact with the ground.

And for good reason.

It was almost similar to a thousand volts being unleashed right up through her legs and into the rest of her body, hitting ever sensor double-time along the way just for good measure. Her initial plan to simply "casually" lean against the berth to take some of the weight off was gone within a flash, and the next thing she knew her legs had not-so-casually collapsed beneath her weight, sending her faceplate-first into the floor. The harsh impact with the ground did little for the pain receptors within her that will still going off... in fact, funnily enough, they only seemed to make it ten times worse. There was no suppressing the choking sound she made as all her sensors lit up like infernos, although some small part of her processor did hope that perhaps the noise would be muffled by the floor that her faceplate was buried into.

There was a small moment of silence as her haywire circuitry finally calmed the frag down enough for her to concentrate, and then another pause before she heard the sound of Shockwave's footsteps, signalling his approach. She grimaced openly into the floor this time as she pondered whether or not he would just kick her for good measure, or force her to do it all over again. Dude, she'd failed the first time. They were going to be here all night if he tried to get her to do it again. She opened her mouth in preparation to tell him to frag off (which would, undoubtedly, just end up dealing her with more punishment, but Freeze didn't tend to think these things over very well when she was sore and pissed off), but in the end it turned out she didn't need to.

Sharp yet familiar digits easily slipped beneath the two halves of her body, arms following, before Shockwave easily lifted her up and off the ground. Amidst the uncomfortable feeling of something touching her sensitive sensors, Freeze made a sound that vaguely resembled one of appreciation... although, knowing her, it could have been a groan. Still, she'd have to show her appreciation somehow. She just hoped Shockwave wasn't in the mood for interfacing that night. That would do absolute _wonders _for her current state (not), and she didn't know whether or not she would have the will to resist purging. The shock she'd received from touching down on the ground had left her feeling pretty nauseous, and Shockwave probably wouldn't appreciate it.

She let out a sigh of relief as she was carefully laid back down on the large berth, although he left her to find her own comfortable position, turning away to slide in beside her.

"Thank you, _Master,_" she said, forcing herself to close the distance between them, and placing a cautious kiss on his chestplate. When he didn't object, she carefully pulled herself closer, laying her head on top of it instead. It was as much a display of gratitude as it was a bid for forgiveness, and the fact that he wasn't touching her in kind didn't mean anything to her. Shockwave never did so, mainly because in his frame of mind he had no need to, as she was the slave and not him. However, based on the fact that he didn't shove her away nor told her to get off, she figured everything was pretty much just water under the bridge now. He'd let it slide. He'd forgiven her.

Like he always did.

* * *

><p><strong>2am in the morning... I'm sorry, Freeze. I did you no justice. And I had something important to say. Hmm...<strong>

**Oh yes, to any of you who actually read these silly little notes down here, I would like your opinion. ^.^  
>Let's just say that, on the occasion, by the time I've posted one chapter there's already a little bit of the next chapter that I have started on (not always, but sometimes). Would you, or would you not, like me to post a small part of these somewhat-written chapters in the chapter before it, so that you can get a previewteaser as to what will come next?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Autobot Princess Arcee:** _Mehe. :3 Thank you for another review and your advice! I think it's gonna come in handy. I hope I get him right. :S I don't read Soundwave fanfics very much (and it probably shows xP), so I wouldn't have known about those names either way XD But thanks. :3  
><em>**16 SilverMoon 16: **_That I am pleased to hear. ;) Aww, Freeze'll get over it, I'm sure. ;P Thanks for teh review. ^.^  
><em>**Szahara Again: **_Omg... you know what I just realised? It's been more than a whole YEAR since I've updated this thing. Holy crap. Anyway, thank you very much for the detailed advice and feedback ^.^ Starscream's is supposed to be coming in soon, followed by Megatron a little after. I'll be straying back into known territory with those two, so it'll be a welcome relief. XD  
><em>**SunlightOnTheWater: **_I suppose that depends on what's considered strange when you're owned by a bunch of Decepticons. xP Thank you for your review and feedback on the teaser!  
><em>**Nitrofrost2: **_I'll be honest: it was kinda a teaser, kind of a random idea that popped into my head. Razorwing isn't likely to pop up in the next chapter, I don't think. I'm not sure yet. I haven't planned that far. :P Thank_ you!  
><strong>wowimcrazy: <strong>_Cute... 'tis a new way of looking at it. ;P Thanks for the review, yeah._ ^.^  
><strong>Malfoy's Ferret: <strong>_I have GOT to start updating sooner! Ack. I am so sorry. I feel kinda bad about the year long break. . But ah, Razorwing's creators will be revealed all in good time. ;P Your review was much appreciated._ :3  
><strong>Imma Firen' mah lazaaar: <strong>_Next chapter, next chapter, I promise. ^.^_  
><strong>Katsumi the miko: <strong>_Thanks ^.^ I think it happens kinda accidentally. Either that, or I really just wanna differentiate them all. O.o Dunno. But thanks._ XD  
><strong>Moonheart: <strong>_One year later.. :c I'll be trying to update faster from now on, though! Thank you!_  
><strong>Chibbi101: <strong>_Thank you! Unfortunately the words "update" and "soon" struggle to fit into my vocabulary, but I hope to be rectifying that soon_ enough.  
><strong>Catbelle: <strong>_I sowwy for the long wait. :c But look! An update! :D  
><em>**Stolenwings: **_It's always the last review that reminds me I have to get off my ass and update these things. Thank you for prompting that. XD In a weird way, I'm kinda proud that my writing has that effect, if you know what I mean. :P If you don't, forget I said anything. XD As a fan of Megatron then, I have the obligation to inform you that he will probably be making his proper appearance in the next two-three chapters. ^.^ Any longer than that, and you have permission to yell at me. ;)_

**I luff my reviewers. You is all so cute. I think I might have to start sending you all separate messages than replying in the story, because it takes up a hell of a lot of room. O.O**

**ASDFGHJKLFJBV SHITBALLS MOTHERFUCKER! I had almost half of this chapter done and I PUSHED THE MOTHER FREAKING BACK SPACE BUTTON. GRAAARRRRRRRRR.**

**On a lighter note, ITS CHAPTER SIX GUYS ITS CHAPTER SIX YAYAYAYAYAYAY :D Welcome to the filler chapter. Nothing much happens here. I'm gonna spend the rest of my time *hopefully* improving the previous chapters. And yeah. Enjoy? ;P Oh and I suppose I should apologise for the lateness. So... sorry. Theres ya go. ^.^**

**Oh right, 'Screamy is coming next chapter. If he's in this chapter, it's because I decided to add him in but forgot to take this bit out. XD**

**DISCLAIMER: I definitely own Transformers and I expect all profits from this to go directly to me. Yep, yep. Feel free to bow, bitches.**

* * *

><p>Raised voices echoed around the small room, an argument having taken next to no time at all to break out between the two occupants of the small interior. One voice was brimming with disgust and disdain; the other, with growing impatience. A shriek of pure fury erupted from within, startling those who were lazing around outside the confines, and causing them to exchange glances with one another.<p>

There was absolutely a possibility that the shrieking coming from Soundwave's private washroom was completely unnecessary.

Though it didn't stop the femme regardless.

Synch squirmed out of his hold with a low growl, pushing herself against the far corner of the wachracks- as far as possible from the offending mech whom had just had the bearings to touch her. Whilst the idea of being able to wash the layers of grime and filth that had collected during her stay in the Hell Cells definitely was _not _unappealing, the idea of doing so with Soundwave watching her- let alone _helping- _definitely _was. _"Cleaning up" did not, and would _never, _involve the likes of Soundwave. She'd allowed the ever-so-gentlemanly mech to lead her into the washracks, but upon finding out that he wasn't intending on _leaving _without her, a dispute had dutifully ensued. It had only gotten so far, however, before Soundwave had adopted the primitive approach; grabbing the femme in an effort to force her under. From that, he had triggered her shriek, and she now found herself huddled in a corner and rather unimpressed.

Was this what life was going to be like? Considering their intentions to frag the femmes senseless, you'd think they'd be allowed at least _this _luxury of privacy.

Soundwave took a step forward, slight annoyance sparking in his optics. The solvent being sprayed from the nozzle some ways above him splashed down over his helm and his shoulders, some of the resulting backsplash hitting Synch; much to her displeasure. The femme merely responded with pushing herself harder against the surrounding walls, shooting him a glare that blatantly challenged him to take another step. Why couldn't he just _let her be. _Synch knew for a fact that her brother would _never _give in to such a degrading act, and likewise she would do the same. He would save so much more time if he wasn't needlessly attempting to throw his authority around the place. And of course, _of course, _a sneer just had to pass slightly over his faceplate, and he took yet another step towards her, almost mocking her dare.

_Well gee Soundwave, did no one ever tell you that when someone offers you a challenge, **you're not supposed to take it.**_

Synch's blue optics narrowed, and for the sake of her pride she knew she would have to go through with it now. He seemed so confident, but she would show him a thing or two. The few blows she would manage to land on him would definitely knock his ego back down to size. Who knew? Maybe all the years out of action had left him soft. The thoughts managed to boost her own ego, and the femme braced herself against the wall. Balling her hands into fists, she lunged at the mech with a small snarl, pushing off the wall to give her an extra amount of force and aiming a punch that had the intention of hitting him directly in the faceplate.

She failed to even make it to halfway. Not because the floor was wet and she slipped. Not because Soundwave used some badass move that rendered her on her aft and virtually helpless.

But because of a bright red and flashing _error message _that suddenly popped into her vision. There was a brief moment of "what the frag" on her part, before her processor immediately jumped into action, scrambling to find an answer as to why a freaking _error_ message was popping up now of all times. At the same time, she felt her body beginning to progressively slow and lose momentum, though definitely not of its own accord. For a second, she began to panic as she realised that her body was no longer her own; no longer responding to her commands or her thoughts. Instead of hurtling towards Megatron's favourite pet, she was heading in a downwards direction, the wet floor of the washracks rushing up to meet her.

A fresh wave of panic took flight within her spark as she realised that her systems were slowing so far down that they were on the verge of shutting down entirely, and rage was quick to swell up and accompany the fear that was coursing through her circuitry. What kind of Decepticon virus was this? When had it been implanted? No wonder Soundwave was so smug. All he'd had to do was probably flick a switch and her death warrant would've already been signed!

System shut down was imminent, and by the time she hit the floor all ability of independent motor control had ceased and her sensors had automatically turned themselves off; her vision showed only static before switching off to black, her audios picked up nothing but white noise. The feeling of the hard, yet nonetheless slippery tiled floor that she was now lying on was lost on her, along with the digits digging under her armour and dragging her away. She only saw flickers of strange, wispery imagery in the darkness, like a distant memory that was faded around the edges. Central to the image was a face of a mech, silver, shadows playing enticingly over his dark features and burning red optics. The light he was cast in made him seem almost completely irresistable. The image changed, becoming somewhat clearer, except Synch began to register the fact that she was practically liplocked with the charming-looking mech. Her spark seemed to swell for joy in it's chamber, though she had no clear recollection of ever kissing the mech. At all.

The image shifted once more, gaining clarity yet again, and she focussed in on his faceplate more. Where was her mind coming up with this? Was this... wait, surely this could not be the Well of All Sparks? Was she really dead? Had Soundwave honestly offlined her for her single attempt to attack him in his own washracks? Surely... well, surely this wasn't the Well of All Sparks? Seriously? This was pathetic! She'd almost rather be back with Soundwa-

Soundwave.

Wait.

That faceplate.

Her joy ebbed away, replaced with a cold dawning of realisation as certain parts of the mech she had been so intent on mere moments before, began to become increasingly familiar. A single phrase that seemed almost new, but also shockingly familiar, rose to mind, the voice unmistakable;

_"A distraction may be in order."_

Strika's hated faceplate began to take form in her mind, more or less replacing the terrifying image of Soundwave; an almost picture-perfect depiction of her casually leaning against a doorframe with a look of purely smug amusement. Synch literally felt her spark beginning to sink lower and lower into her chamber as things started clicking into place, and memories stored deep within the layers of her processor began to resurface unbidden. Soundwave. Tentacles. The programming-

_The programming!_

Freeze's voice took hold of her thoughts now, crystal clear and now beginning to make complete sense.

_"It's a bitch when you're trying to resist; for some, more than others."_

Was that- Surely not-

_"You'll find out, I have no doubt."_

_The pacification programming did this to her?!_

Synch blinked in shock; or she would have, if she had a body left to control. The distraction. The distraction had been Soundwave; and those disgusting tentacles had made sure of it. She suddenly felt violated beyond measure, thinking back to what she had thought had simply _felt _like another conscious pushing up against hers, to all the thoughts she'd only _thought _had been hers, but had actually been coming from _Soundwave. _The idea of her mind being so _impressionable _almost made her feel nauseous. He'd taken over in the shutter of an optic. Completely rewired her way of thinking for those few precious moments, then probably forced the memories somewhere deep so she would have trouble locating them. Which made sense, considering when she woke up she'd had next to no idea of what the frag had happened. And then... then what? They'd used the chance to install this pacification programming into her? The sick cowards. Ugh. Her processor was never going to feel the same after this.

Freeze had said the programming was a problem when attempting to resist- for some more than others. For some more than others... as in, some femmes have different programmings in place that kick in faster? Did it effect them all differently? Or were some femmes who were simply more naturally inclined to violence face harsher penalties. Did that mean that, by trying to inflict harm upon Soundwave, the pacification programming had offlined her in an attempt to protect the Decepticon? Then what happened when an Autobot slave just made to outright kill the fucker? Did they implode? Shoot themselves in the face?

_Thanks Well of All Sparks, _Synch intoned sarcastically, _Feel free to move on to the happy-happy paradise stuff now._

As if in answer to her prayers, the white noise faded to a low buzzing in her audios, and her vision began to return as the static cleared. This time Synch did blink, optics shuttering a couple of times as they began to adjust to the dull brightness in the room, and the welcomed feeling of a _controllable _body returned to her. Solvent was hailing down her back, washing away whatever it could on it's own. The femme took a moment to enjoy the sensation. It had been an extraordinarily long time since she'd been allowed to indulge such a luxury, and she wasn't going to start taking it granted now. The only thing that ruined that ruined the whole experience was the other sensation of someone else washing the armour along her back.

**THREAT TERMINATED. **a green message flashed in her vision, before blinking out of existence.

She'd give them a fragging threat.

Synch bristled at Soundwave's touch, her newly discovered memories resurfacing along with her rage at him for what he had done. The son of a bitch. Who in the Pit did he think he was? Did he think just because he had the power to rustle around in other people's processors, that suddenly gave him the _right _to? Exactly what else had he found in her processor? How much of herself had been compromised?

But what was even more troubling to her was; how long until he did it again? What was stopping him, afterall? Was _that _how he was planning on having hatchlings with her? Taking over her mind and _forcing _her to enjoy the experience? Was there no way to fight it? She had heard of studies about mechs with abilities similar to Soundwave (alright, more like vigorously read them all before going to recharge each night, as few as they were)- warning them to be careful, because messing with the processor could sometimes have dangerous and long-lasting effects. By long-lasting, did it mean that if he repetitively forced a feelings of infactuation for him onto her... it would eventually become a permanent part of her? Forever branded into her core being, causing her to remain loyal to him.. forever? He could practically reshape her entire personality!

It was a thought Synch did not enjoy.

She twitched as she felt Soundwave move around to her front- sitting directly in front of her. The smug look on his faceplate was almost nauseating, and Synch couldn't hold her glare on him for very long before her thoughts forced her to look away. What if he was one of those telepaths who could pick up on what Transformers were thinking? Was he being amused by her paranoia? Or was she merely giving him ideas? She hoped he wasn't one of _those _telepaths. She felt like her privacy had been invaded enough for one lifetime.

Also, why was he washing her?

She was the slave. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Not that the thought of having to wash Soundwave was the most desirable thought she'd had in her lifespan, but it certainly wasn't the most disgusting either. There were a hell of a lot of worse things she could have been enduring at that point in time.

"Shouldn't I be washing myself?" Synch asked flatly, giving Soundwave a deadpan look.

She still couldn't _believe _he'd just gone right in and controlled her like that! Unbelievable. Mechs. _Decepticon _mechs, specifically. It was for this reason that she took on the tone that she did; trying to sound indifferent but also blunt and to the point. Boring, in other words. He deserved nothing more and nothing less.

Soundwave snickered as if she'd said something particularly amusing. Synch immediately decided she didn't like that.

"Autobots, rather incapable of personal hygeine."

Synch's anger flared at the insult, but she was quick to calm it. Rather than boot her pacification programming back into play and cause another embarrassing ordeal, she bit her lip in an effort to control herself and stubbornly looked away instead, though it only earned a laugh from Soundwave. He was definitely well acquainted with the pacification programming and what it could do. On some level, it didn't surprise Synch. But on another, she found it rather annoying that he wasn't the one who had to deal with it _in _his system yet knew everything about it, whereas she knew next to nothing about it but had to accomodate it in her life. Where was the fairness in that? Where was the _logic _in that? Where the frag were her Pacification Programming 101 classes?

* * *

><p>Any shower with Soundwave was too long, Synch decided the moment they were finished.<p>

She'd literally sat in the washracks the entire time, remaining defiantly silent, anger smoldering within the dark depths of her spark at Soundwave's bold actions. She still worried, still fretted, over what he might have found within the large expanse of information that he processor held. Not that she had much to hide, no; it was more of a privacy concern. Every Transformer had their secrets, and Synch was no different. There was simply some things that you didn't wish your Decepticon captor to know about you, or use as bait whenever they needed to blackmail you into doing a task you otherwise wouldn't perform. To think that he had the nerve to invade that privacy not only sparked anger, but also fear and concern. What had he found? Had he even gone digging? Was he reading her thoughts right now?

Attempting to be discreet, Synch tilted her head slightly to the side so that she could see over her shoulder, gaze resting on the mech that had been occupying her thoughts. Her optics searched for any outward sign that he was aware of what was going on in her slightly frazzled processor, but found none. She turned back to the windows she'd been facing previously, feeling slightly more relieved but still suspicious nonetheless. He could, afterall, simply be _hiding _it...

At least her reflection looked nice.

Or at least that's what she deduced from what little of it she could see in the one way windows adorning Soundwave's apartment... thingy. Soundwave himself was seated somewhere behind her, reading over some datapad that she personally didn't give a single frag about. The annoying pest Ravage, last she had looked, had been curled up on the seat next to him. And Lazerbeak...

Well, Synch was pretty sure she could feel that little traitor burning holes through the back of her helm.

The view was nice, at least. The courtyard was empty for the time being, but she got the impression that was subject to change during different hours of the day. Perhaps being a stay-at-home femme wouldn't be _so _terrible. She'd have something to keep her interested with and from going completely insane, even if that did mean having to watch other Transformers go merrily about their lives, whilst she was trapped in the closed confines of Soundwave's living quarters.

Nothing would ever beat the freedom of being _out _of the Decepticon's reach though; as far away from Cybertron as possible. Not that Synch ever thought she would experience that again. Everyone knew; the minute you were caught, it was game over. In more ways than one. As soon as the Decepticons had taken Cybertron, everyone had known there was no hope for the Autobot side. All they had left to do was run, but even space-ranging games of cat-and-mouse had to come to an end eventually. Synch's own band of Autobots had hidden out in an isolated planet, where they had believed themselves to be relatively safe. In a sense, the femme presumed they had grown to be rather complacent considering how effective their hideout had proven itself to be, and therefore also grown to be rather careless. It was one of the reasons they had ended up being captured. The other being that Strika was very, _very _effective at what she did. Even Synch, as much as she despised the femme, couldn't deny her that.

Bluestreak, Smokescreen and Blurr. Synch remembered her companions well. She had travelled with them after Cybertron had gone to the Pit, fighting alongside them whenever they chanced upon other Decepticons within the galaxy. Blurr, the hard-to-understand speed demon; Bluestreak, the questioning sharpshooter; and Smokescreen, the leader of their group. There were times when they had been disfunctional at best, but they had managed to survive together. That had been all that mattered. The only thing that would've made their band better, would've been if Synch's brother Bumblebee had been with them.

At first she had been proud of him for departing with their leader, the great Optimus Prime. It was a great honour to travel with the noble mech, and he clearly recognised something great within the young scout in order for him to invite him along. But over time, the pride had waned, giving way to sadder feelings of loneliness and loss. The only thing that had kept Synch's mind off the depressing absence of her brother during the war had been the determination to bring an end to the Decepticon cause, and be reunited with him back on Cybertron.

That obviously wasn't going to happen anymore.

Synch suppressed a defeated sigh, deciding that with her newly installed pacification programming perhaps it would not be such a good idea to fill her processor with revenge-sparking and anger inducing thoughts such as those. Rather, she distracted herself with thoughts of her low energon levels and by focussing on the small form of a Transformer hurrying to cross to the other side of the courtyard far below, stepping into the moonlight-washed center before being swallowed by darkness again on the other side.


	7. Chapter 7

She was late.

More than late, in fact. The courtyard was dowsed in the thick shadow cast by the rebuilt Iacon, unabated by the light from the Cybertronian moons that had already risen well above the horizon by now; an obvious indication that she was expected to have been home hours ago. She would have been too, if the blasted receptionist hadn't purposely kept her waiting for so long. It wasn't the first time the femme had been made a low priority at that place, but it was definitely the longest wait she'd ever had to endure. By the time she'd finally received what she had came for, the sky had faded to black and next to nobody had been around, most Transformers having retired for the night.

Out of the corner of her optics, the femme spied a lone figure standing at one of the windows from high above, and she got the impression she was being watched. She didn't have much time to dwell on it though. Those moons were steadily climbing further into the star-dotted sky with every click that she allowed to pass, and she was running out of whatever time she had left.

The unfortunate slave ran into the blackness beneath the looming structure in front of her, skilfully darting in between its pillars and supports with the ease of someone who had done it on many occasions before. She clutched a lone datapad tightly in her two hands, the sole cause of her current distress. Her master had wanted her to collect it earlier that day for reasons he did not bother to clarify to her. She had known better than to ask, too. If only the receptionist hadn't felt it within her duty to make her life as inconvenient as possible, perhaps the femme wouldn't be facing her current predicament.

Her pedesteps reverberated down the empty hallways and echoed through the still darkness. She reached a wide archway that opened up into one of the many staircases she would have to ascend- one of seventy-two, to be exact. It was here she briefly paused to catch her breath and allow her systems to recover again, before she began her mad scramble up the stairs.

They twisted and curled in a series of winding corners, illuminated by small lights that were set into the bottom of the walls. All going well, there wouldn't be any hold ups for the femme. Very few Decepticons used the stairs, mostly because it was so much more efficient to use the elevator than the primitive technology she was currently using. But you never knew in a place like this. Thanks to the pacification programming they all had installed, resistance was quite literally futile. Slaves were often very much picked on around these parts; harassed, abused, pushed around. Especially slaves who were _alone. _

It was for this reason that she increased her grip on the datapad, almost as if she were fearful that someone might round a corner and snatch it off her at a moment's notice.

The stairs levelled out into the first platform, and she continued on to the second flight. Primus damnit, she knew she was in trouble. He was going to have her _head. _Even though her current route almost completely guaranteed her safety, it took ten times as long, and time was not her friend that night. Hopefully Megatron hadn't done anything to frag him off during the day. Hopefully his brothers weren't there to wind him up or point out her tardiness. Hopeflly he would be understanding, even though he rarely ever was. She didn't fancy being someone's punching bag tonight. She hated it when he hit her, especially when she always tried so hard to please him and keep him happy.

By the forty-eighth flight of stairs, deep, masculine voices began to carry down the staircase to her audio receptors. Her vocal processor caught in her throat and she quickly ground to a halt, silently cursing at her poor stroke of luck. She really didn't want to be held up any further. Particularly not by Decepticon mechs at this hour. What were Decepticons doing using such a medieval form of transport? Was the general impression amongst them not that these things were below them? Did they not realise they had a fully functioning elevator on their premises- more than one elevator, in fact?

The femme glanced around desperately for some place where she could hide herself, a gap or crevasse that she could perhaps duck into, but she was surrounded by nothing but smooth edges and walls. Damnit, by taking the staies, she'd been hoping to avoid this exact situation. Why couldn't they have been like normal Decepticons and taken the Primus-damned elevator? Oh how she wished her good friend 'Fang was here right about now. She would protect her. She would know what to do.

Resorting to another alternative, the femme ducked her head and continued on at a much slower pace, doing her best to make herself appear inconspicious to the two soldiers who were drawing closer by the click. She even pressed herself closer to the side of the wall than it was was reasonably necessary, flattening the side of her body against it. She didn't want to give them any reason to take notice of her, or give them any excuse to initiate interaction. It was a trick her friend had taught her after she'd been continiously picked on by the larger 'Cons in the ranks; the trick of appearing virtually invisible.

Of course, her friend had it down to a much finer art, but overall it worked fairly well. The Decepticons turned the corner and passed by without incident, besides from the fact that she could feel the second one's optics burning holes into her. She kept her own gaze firmly fixe on the ground, however, resisting the urge to look back at him. She waited until their footsteps had faded away to an adequate distance before she glanced over her shoulder, watching them round the next corner and disappear from sight. Instantly, she broke out into another run.

By the time the femme had reached her designated floor, she knew far too much time had passed. Despite her overheating systems and the desperate whirring of her cooling fans as they tried to suck in air, the minute she reached the platform she sprinted through the finely decorated lobby and straight for her master's designated quarters- the middle door, out of 3 in the hallway. Primus help her, may he not be in the middle of a rage.

The femme unceremoniously burst through the doors, pedes clattering against the floor rather noisily as she tried to overcome her momentum and quickly grind herself to a halt. Whilst this worked quite well in producing the desired results, it also had some unfortunate outcomes- such as drawing the attention of all inhabitants within the room, per se. Which, also rather unfortunately, consisted of all three members of the trine.

Starscream, Skywarp and Thundercracker. All three of them turned to stare at her as she stood in the middle of the doorway, vents whirring and chestplate rapidly rising and falling. Screw it, what were the last two doing here? They were both sitting on different couches, Skywarp sprawled out over his, whereas Thundercracker was sitting straight and proper. Starscream himself was standing on the far end of the room, by the oversized window that allowed him a rather unobstructed view of the place. No doubt Skywarp wouldn't be able to help dobbing her in to Starscream and pointing out how late she was. It wasn't her fault the receptionist made her a last priority just because she was a former Autobot! Or even worse, he'd been winding Starscream up the whole night, and now she was going to have to pay the consequences for _his _irritating actions...

Phoenix unceremoniously burst through the doors, pedes clattering against the floor rather noisily as she slowed herself to a halt, effectively drawing the attention of everyone within the room as she did so. Which, unfortunately, consisted of the all three members of the trine. Starscream, Skywarp and Thundercracker all turned to stare at her as she stood in the middle of the doorway, vents whirring lightly and chestplate rapidly rising and falling. Primus screw it, what were the last two doing here? No doubt Skywarp wouldn't be able to help dobbing her into Starscream and pointing out how late she was. It wasn't _her _fault the receptionist made her a last priority just because she was an Autobot! Or even worse, he'd been winding Starscream up the whole night, and now she was going to have to pay the consequences...

Starscream, her official master, fixed her with a dark, unimpressed look that sent chills straight down her backstruts, giving her the impression that perhaps he didn't need his trinemate to remind him afterall. Skywarp tried to make some what-was-surely-to-be snide comment, but the trine leader snapped at him in their own native tongue and he quickly silenced. Swiftly, sensing Starscream's unsavoury mood, the femme closed the doors and hurried over to the lead Seeker; dutifully kneeling before him, optics downcast. He outstretched his hand, an obvious gesture, and not a click later she reverently put the datapad in it. Starscream didn't move immediately though, and she could still feel him glaring down at her. Oh boy, she was in trouble.

The illustrious Starscream did eventually move- he walked around her to address his trinemates, beckoning for her to rise as he did so. She obeyed and gave a quick survey of the room, first noting that not one of them had an Energon cube in their hand. Discreetly slinking to the side of the room where the Energon dispenser was located, she filled three cubes and distributed them amongst the renowned Seekers- first to Thundercracker, then to Starscream, then finally Skywarp. Much to her dismay however, the last mech grabbed her the minute she'd delivered his cube, pulling her into his lap. The black and purple Seeker wrapped his arm around her waist in order to hold her in place, whilst his other hand precariously held the cube she had just given to him. Neither of his brothers commented or even seemed to care. It wasn't the first time Skywarp had forced her into a situation such as this, and she very much doubted that it would be the last.

With nothing much else to do, the femme forced herself to relax in his hold, doing her best to ignore the hand that was tauntingly stroking her hip. Of course, her current predicament would have been so much better, if the Seekers were actually conversing in a form of Cybertronian that she understood. The trine leader was addressing them in a sort of foreign tongue that she could not translate, but from years of being in their service could definitely recognise. It was some sort of ancient language used in Vos, known by the entire Seeker race, and by the Seeker race alone. Passed down for generations, or so Starscream had told her, it had proven most useful to the breed over the years. How else could they plot the demise of a mech standing not 5 metres away from them, like the great Skyblazer from the tale Starscream had recounted to her one night?

"What says you, Phoenix?" Skywarp grinned, suddenly reverting back to standard Cybertronian for the femme. "What's the best course of action in annihilating the remaining Autobots? You should know how their minds work."

Phoenix's optic ridges lifted somewhat, regarding the mech with a slightly confused expression. Annihilate? Why would they suddenly want to annihilate everyone? She'd always thought their intentions had been to track down Autobot battalions, pick off all the mechs, and then ship any found femmes back to Cybertron. Not once had anyone talked of wiping them all out, at the risk of losing those prized femmes in the process.

"I... I thought you wanted to keep the femmes, though, Master Skywarp..."

Skywarp snorted at that, rolling his optics and tightening his hold on her in an imitation of a squueze. She had to stop herself from cringing as he pulled her body closer to his in the process.

"Why would we care about that, when we already have our own right here?" he purred, giving her a lewd grin.

"Skywarp," Starscream abruptly snapped, glaring at him, "these are not matters to be concerned with Autobot slaves."

The youngest member of the trine merely shrugged, swirling the contents of his Energon cube, seemingly unconcerned with what he should and should not be talking about with his underlings. Not that he could have done much harm anyway. What could Phoenix possibly do with the information? She was about as powerless as her fallen comrades.

"We already have enough," Skywarp informed her regardless of Starscream's warning, "Plenty of them remain here on Cybertron, unclaimed. We don't need no more."

"I thought I told you to shut up."

"Probably."

Starscream's wings gave an irritable twitch on his back; a blatant indication that his younger brother was grinding his gears. That typically wasn't a good sign for Phoenix. When Starscream got frustrated with either of his trinemates- or anything in life, really- he often reverted to using the young femme as his punching bag, especially if she'd done something wrong earlier that warranted a beating. In this case it was her lateness, and considering her incredibly poor timing she really did not want Starscream to be in a bad mood once the other two left.

Without pausing for much consideration, she lowered her head onto Skywarp's chestplate, snuggling in closer to him. An amused growl of pleasure emitted from the Seeker's vocaliser. For a click she was fearful that he may start gloating, further riling up his older brother, but luckily the mech remained silent. Instead, he dispersed his cube in order to wrap both his arms around her, pulling her that much closer to his own armour. Though Phoenix certainly did not appreciate the position in the slightest, it did meet the desired result. In other words, Skywarp silenced himself in favour of running his hands up and down her back, in what she was sure he assumed to be a comforting or affectionate gesture. In all honestly, it only really sent chills down her backstruts.

It was funny considering how vicious and possessive Seekers could be, that they shared their belongings so easily amongst their trine. Starscream knew very well what happened between his own slave and his brothers, but not once had he indicated that he was at all disgruntled by it.

The conversation in that special Vosian tongue continued. How she wished she knew what they were dicussing. The words sounded so beautiful when they were pronounced. Though she knew no Seeker would ever teach her, she longed to be able to speak and understand that curious language.

It seemed like an eternity before Starscream finally dismissed the pair. She knew that, because Thundercracker go to his pedes and immediately headed straight for the door, whereas Skywarp couldn't help but make the extra effort to ruffle her helm before he left. He seemed to have some sort of fascination with making a mockery out of her whenever the opportunity presented itself, and that included treating her like some sort or pet. Her blue optics narrowed but, as always, she didn't say a word. Starscream had no objection concerning the matter, and therefore it was definitely not her place to speak out aboutit.

The pair disappeared, finally leaving her and Starscream alone in the room together. He sat down on the couch that Thundercracker had been on, regarding her with an unreadable look, that almost seemed to be bordering on a glare. Phoenix swallowed thickly, growing increasingly worried about the events that were about to play out. Would Starscream let her explain herself? Unlikely. It would be a miracle if he let her speak in her defence, let alone believe what she had to say.

A few moments passed before he eventually ordered,

"Come here."

Ohh Primus. She was in for it now.

Phoenix shakily rose to her pedes, reluctantly making her way over to the mech and standing before him, as per the normal routine. The Second-in-Command looked irritable; easily fired up. Possibly even stressed. Today definitely hadn't been a good day for him then, she noted. However, there were not dents or dings to speak of in his armour, which meant that at least Megatron hadn't thrown any punches at him. This time.

"Why were you late, Autobot." he demanded, practically spitting out the title with such venom that the femme couldn't help cringing.

"I... the receptionist... I was waiting to receive the datapad, and it took a little longer than normal, sir," she meekly told him, knowing better than trying to blame the Decepticon behind the counter.

That was just asking for instant punishment. She'd learnt that one out the hard way.

"How? I was told it was ready to be picked up immediately."

"I... I don't know..."

"What do you mean you _'don't know'_? You were there, weren't you."

"Yes but-"

"But _what."_

Oh Primus, he really was in a foul mood.

His red optics were burning into her lighter coloured ones, and she was finding it difficult to maintain what little optic contact she was. Her optics kept timidly flicking away- to the wall, to the couch, to the energon dispenser right behind him- forcing her to drag them back up to meet his gaze, lest she be reprimanded for it. She couldn't help that her more submissive coding, her side which made her fear conflicts like this and earnestly avoid them, was screaming at her not to look him in the optics. In her processor, she registered it as a challenge. In Starscream's, he seemed to see it as a sign of respect, to look at someone while they were addressing you.

"But... they... they got distracted by other customers, and I... I think she forgot about me for a little while and then by the time she remembered it was already getting a little late and I knew I would have to hurry-back-and-I-tried-master-I-honestly-did!"

The last few words came out in such a rush, she would have been surprised if Starscream had even heard her properly.

Starscream's wings gave an obvious twitch behind him, and the femme immediately got the hint. Darting behind him, her hands set to work on kneading the sensitive metal, rubbing it in the same fashion that she had heard the humans refer to as a "massage." She was greatly relieved that the other two Seekers were not here for this. Quite often they would demand the same of her, and the only thing worse than having to withstand Skywarp's teasing and tormenting was ignoring the leers and remarks he made whenever she had to touch him. Unfortunately the trine had a very strict "What's mine is partly yours as well" policy, so Starscream didn't seem to care, and thus didn't put a stop to it.

The mech practically melted into her hands, and she felt a spark of pride at her ability to have that kind of effect on him. For a brief moment, she began to hope that perhaps he had forgotten about the whole thing, until...

"Did you tell them it was for me?"

"Of course!"

He made a noise.

"-Master," she quickly added.

"Why didn't you remind her that you were there, if you thought she had forgotten about you."

"I... I didn't think that she would give a... a slave priority over other Decepticons. I thought she'd just get mad. I'm sorry Master. I'll do better next time. I promise."

The mech let out a strange sound that seemed like it was a cross between a frustrated growl and a frustrated sigh, flicking his wings to indicate that he no longer wished for her to be touching him. Timidly, she took a step back, watching him with worried optics. Hopefully he would be generous. Hopefully he understood.

He reached behind him and grabbed her by the arm, his hand almost taking up the small femme's entire forearm, and began pulling her over the back of the couch. For the briefest of moments she froze, suddenly unsure, but common sense overrode any doubtful thoughts and she obliged with the movement. Resisting was futile, and even attempting to do so would bring more pain and misery than simply obeying and bending to their will. The pacification programming would make sure of that.

She found herself being pulled into Starscream's lap, where she quietly began working on his upper arms and shoulders instead. The mech was slowly starting to loosen up, much to her relief. He even began stroking her back in a soothing manner, much like he'd done when she had been younger and he'd first acquired her. The action had always brought her comfort, and she relaxed in his hold, stifling a purr. It always served two purposes- calming down her systems, and helping the Seeker to think. Whether or not he knew of the first one, though, she did not know.

His other arm that was wrapped around her stiffened slightly, holding her in place and preventing her from falling. She wasn't much older now than she had been when Starscream had first bought her, but yet she still felt much more vulnerable... for completely different reasons, some of which she simply did not want to consider.

"Would you like to see that other thing tomorrow?" Starscream asked her.

Phoenix immediately perked up in his lap, almost headbutting Starscream as she did so, and vigorously nodded her head. She knew exactly what he meant by "that other thing." Her only true friend on this planet, who she rarely saw enough of as it was. Of course she would leap at any opportunity to see her! Especially if Starscream was offering to take her.

"Oh yes please, Master!" she chirped excitedly.

"Then you better be extra good tomorrow morning," he growled to her, sounding disgruntled over nearly being physically assaulted, even if it were to be accidental.

"I promise, sir!"

"We'll see." he replied simply.

His lack of enthusiasm was not to thwart her however. She was personally quite excited, even if he was not. It didn't matter to her that she knew her friend was probably going to be as banged up and in as much of a mess as she usually was. It certainly didn't matter that it meant Starscream would more than likely be in an unhappy mood that night either. That she could deal with, under normal circumstances, afterall. No, all that mattered was that she got to see Shadowfang, that she got to talk to her once again. There was so much she wanted to tell her about, so much she wanted to get off her spark. It had been so long sine they had spoken last, who knew how long before she would get to see her again?

Of course, there was also the downside of getting to visit her close friend. Phoenix always felt pathetically defeated whenever she laid optics upon her. The poor femme had suffered through so much, she knew. Shadowfang never spoke of it, but Phoenix knew regardless. It was obvious. Painfully so. She herself was thankful that she was young when she first entered service, thankful that she was not as old as all of the other femmes that she had encountered. She'd barely been old enough to aim a weapon when the war had broken out, and by the time it had finished she hadn't been much better. The squadron of Autobots she'd been with had reduced her to a rather sheltered life, spending more time protecting her than actually teaching her to protect herself. So, when the Decepticons found them, it was needless to say she hadn't been a great help. Not that she remembered much; mostly being cornered by the Seeker Starscream, before being dragged off with them on their ship back to Cybertron.

Her age excuse wasn't going to last much longer here, though. She was growing up, certainly.

She knew what happened to femmes when they got "too old." She knew because Shadowfang had told her. She knew because Skywarp kept bringing it up, kept suggesting it, whenever he said anything to her. She knew because she'd seen the telltale dents, scuffs and scratches in the frames of other femmes enough times to know that simply doing jobs to help out was not the only requirement of being a slave to a Decepticon.

She sunk into the protection of Starscream's chest and abdominal armour, nervously wondering exactly how many more times she'd be able to sit in this kind of position, without the fear of it escalating into... something else entirely. Not to mention there were many other worries to go along with this. Would she be shared out amongst the Seekers, like she was now? Would it hurt? Would he be gentle? Would _any _of them be gentle? And most importantly, when. When would he choose to make his move. She was at the age now that he was only really biding his time...

The mech above regarded her with cold, unsympathetic optics, and not for the first time Phoenix got the impression that the Seeker knew exactly what was on her processor.


End file.
